


Feels Like I'm Coming Home

by historysong



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, mild bloodplay, mild supernatural violence (mixed in with your typical hockey violence)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historysong/pseuds/historysong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sidney’s right,” Nathalie said, “but he’s only half right.” She smiled widely. “In fact, he missed out the best part.”</p><p>Or, how Jaromir Jagr finds a pack and team to belong to, loses said pack in the offseason (except not really), rekindles an old friendship once thought destroyed, plays hockey, and stumbles his way into a relationship. Not necessarily in that order.</p><p>Written for <a href="http://hockeybigbang.livejournal.com">Hockey Big Bang</a>, and set in the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/47425">Wolves On Ice</a> universe (with permission).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Scars Give It All Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/836848) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Many, many thanks to the very awesome Calliotrope for allowing me to play in her sandbox in the first place, as well as being my beta. Any errors remaining in the work are mine. 
> 
> Also, thanks to halfeatenmoon for making an excellent mix, which you can find [here](http://8tracks.com/halfeatenmoon/right-where-i-left-you). Go and have a listen, it's absolutely worth it.

### 

His senses were overwhelmed as they headed back towards the dressing room - the smell of the ice and the arena, the sounds of the crowd still chanting their names, and the pure, heady emotions rippling off all his teammates - even those who were not connected to the pack in any way.

 

“Hey, it’s the kid!” Predictably, of course, Trots was the first one to approach him, practically bouncing over and slinging an arm around Jagr’s shoulders.

 

“Your eyes are glowing,” Ron Francis murmured as he popped up on Jagr’s other side. Startled, Jagr took a moment to compose himself before shooting an inquiring look to Ron, who nodded, throwing him a thumbs up.

 

“Hey, Ronnie,” Trots said, suddenly, arm still slung around Jagr, “The kid looks a bit overwhelmed. I mean, does he even know what he’s won?”

 

“I know,” Jagr said, in his broken English. “Stanley Cup.”

 

Trots grinned, thumping Jagr on the back, ignoring the winces from Ron - it was probably a good thing that Trots was human, or he’d have gotten in trouble for that. “Give the man a cigar, Ronnie. Exactly. And it’s all ours. Or it will be,” he added, “when our beloved leader gets his fat ass into the dressing room.”

 

Jagr frowned, trying to follow the conversation. “Mario?”

 

“Yeah, he’ll be along in a minute,” Ron said. “Probably got caught up with the press or something.”

 

Sure enough, there was a murmur from outside barely a moment later, as the dressing room door swung open, and Recchi’s voice could be heard over the din, exclaiming, “Ladies, gentlemen and hockey players - the STANLEY CUP!” There was a collective roar of excitement from the team, as they hurried as one to the entrance.

 

Jagr hung back - not because he wasn’t interested, but because his head was throbbing, and he could feel his fangs ease in and out. Strong emotions always tended to feed the wolf instincts. So while his teammates celebrated, Jagr settled himself down in his stall for a moment. He’d join them later, once he’d got his senses - and his inner wolf - under control. 

 

He smelt Mario first, as the other wolf dropped onto the bench next to him. “Hey.”

 

“Hello.” Jagr looked at the shiny trophy on Mario’s other side. “You bring that for me?”

 

Mario nodded. “Here.” He picked up the Cup, placing it between them. “You can touch it, you know - after all, you helped win it.”

 

Jagr reached out, tracing the engraved names along the Cup. It was hard to believe – as a child, he had seen the Cup being held aloft on a grainy black and white TV, and now, in a few weeks time, he would have his own name engraved on this very same Cup, for all to see.

 

“Ronnie told me your eyes were glowing a bit, earlier,” Mario said. “You okay?”

 

Jagr nodded. “Headache,” he said. “Was too much.”

 

“Senses, huh?” Mario picked up the Cup, placing it on his other side, before holding out an arm. “C’mere.”

 

Jagr shuffled closer to Mario on the bench, sliding under his arm and leaning his head on Mario’s shoulder. He was close enough to focus in on Mario’s heartbeat above all the noise in the room, as well as his scent, and as the rest of the noise melted away, he suddenly felt more content.

 

“Better?” Mario asked.

 

“Is good,” he said. “Thank you.”

 

“What are packmates for?” Mario said. His fingers rubbed in lazy circles along Jagr’s back. “And besides, it’s crazy out there on the senses. I don’t blame you for losing control - it’s quite a lot to take in.” He grinned. “I almost growled at a reporter, earlier.”

 

“Good you stop,” Jagr said. “Don’t want to eat reporter.”

 

“No,” said Mario. “Journalists taste awful.”

 

The two looked at each other for a moment, before they burst out laughing. It wasn’t even a funny joke, but maybe it was the emotions of the evening catching up to them.

 

Which was how Recchi found them, later, clutching at each other and wheezing with laughter.

 

“Well, look at you two lovebirds!” he said. “Wanted a bit of quiet time alone, eh?” He grinned at Mario. “Has the kid offered you his neck, yet?”

 

If Jagr was in his wolf skin, he would have curled his lip at Recchi. As it was, Mario shot him a very Dire-worthy glare. “Take the Cup and go, Rex. We’ll be along shortly.”

 

“Sure thing, boss.” Recchi picked up the Cup, blowing them a kiss as he left. “Have fun, and don’t mark each other!”

 

“Lovebirds?” Jagr asked, once Recchi had left. “Marking?”

 

“Just Rex being Rex,” Mario said. “He’s always going on about how the two of us are so ‘attached at the hip in both skins’, that we might as well make it official.”

 

There was a faraway look in Mario’s eyes as he spoke, and Jagr frowned. “You mind?” he asked. Mario was the first wolf he’d met coming to Pittsburgh, and he had felt immediately comfortable around him - despite the fact that the two of them were alphas. In his own experience, he’d never met another alpha he could stand being in the same space with, let alone feel comfortable or ‘safe’ enough to call his closest friend.

 

Mario shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “You’re my friend. Besides,” he added, “everyone knows we’re both alphas. Rex is just being an ass.” He looked down at Jagr. “Now how about we rejoin the party? We’ve got some serious celebrating to do.”

 

Jagr allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Not good to have Trots and Rex have all the fun,” he said, slinging an arm around Mario. “Maybe North Star dressing room not standing when we leave.”

 

Mario actually rolled his eyes at that. “Heaven forbid!” He started heading in the direction of the rest of their teammates, with Jagr - as always - by his side.

 

And really, Jagr thought, he couldn’t see it any other way. He and Mario were going to spend the rest of their NHL careers together on the Penguins. No doubt about it. 

 

 


	2. Part I.

### 

No matter how many years a hockey player had been in the league, it was still fantastic to take that long walk off the ice and back to the dressing room, with the roar of the crowd still echoing in your ears, and with the knowledge that your team was assured a place in the event that most players spend their whole career dreaming of - the Stanley Cup Finals.

It had been a while since Jagr had a taste of that feeling - the last time he had played in the Stanley Cup Finals, his hair was much longer and teammates like Tyler Seguin were barely a twinkle in their parents’ eyes - and he was savouring every moment of it. He’d barely walked through the team dressing room  doorway , when he found himself with an armful of Brad Marchand.

“That,” Marchy said, practically yelling in his ear, “was un-fucking-believable!”

Jagr could pick out Milan Lucic’s scent even before he heard him, as Lucic appeared by his side and tugged at Marchy’s sleeve. “Hey, Marchy,” he said, grinning, “you might wanna get down from there, before old man Jags here throws his back out or something.”

Jagr’s response was to shoot him a glare, at which Lucic merely shrugged. He was one of the few betas Jagr had met which seemed almost immune to alpha abilities - or at the very least, did not seem inclined to accept their authority as easily as others. Marchy looked sheepish for a second before sliding down, offering his neck as he did so. Jagr let his fingers brush over the right hand side of Marchy’s neck, before slinging an arm companionably over his shoulder - a gesture which Marchy reciprocated by leaning back a little against Jagr as the two settled on one of the benches. Looch sat down beside Marchy, and Krejci walked up soon afterwards, taking one look at their little arrangement before wordlessly settling himself down on Jagr’s other side.

“Good game,” Krejci said, with characteristic understatement. There was a snort of amusement from Looch, but Jagr simply smiled.

“The best,” he agreed, ruffling the younger Czech’s hair. Which was true, after all - against all odds, the Bruins had just swept the Pittsburgh Penguins, holding them to a mere two goals in four games while doing so.

Which was no mean feat, considering the makeup of this particular Pittsburgh team.

While the rest of the team continued celebrating their good fortune, the four of them enjoyed a rare _moment o_ f quiet amongst the chaos, taking the time to reaffirm each other’s scent and connection to the larger Boston pack. Jagr could hear the young defensemen - Krug, Bart and Johnny, plus hero-of-the-moment Adam - from the other side of the locker room as they chattered excitedly amongst themselves; Kaspar demonstrating his barking dog impression to Segs; the low murmur as Seids and Chara conversed quietly in German, and everything in between.

The peace was broken as Thorty joined them, dragging a reluctant goalie along with him. Tuukka had never officially joined the Boston pack, claiming that it was too different from the pack structure in Finland - but he was accepted into the small ‘pseudo-pack’ that had formed amongst the wolves playing on the Boston Bruins, whether he liked it or not. It was Thornton who, after finding himself a comfortable spot on the floor -Tuukka having refused Thorty’s suggestion of sitting in his lap, seating himself instead quite primly next to Krejci -raised the question of the pack’s missing member in his usual fashion.

“Well, looks like the gang’s all here,” he said. “All we need is our fearless leader.”

 Zdeno Chara might have been Captain of the Bruins, but Patrice Bergeron was their Dire. He and Jagr had initially butted heads when the older wolf had first arrived in Boston, both being strong personalities - and alphas - but the two had eventually come to an understanding about the Boston pack and each other’s status within it. Now, as could be evidenced by the recent playoff series, they worked very well together.

Jagr frowned a little at this, trying to pick out Patrice’s distinctive scent from the myriad of others in the room, even as Marchy spoke up. “He was in here a moment ago with Zee,” he said.

“Zee’s with Seids now,” Looch said. “No sign of Bergy - think we should try and find him?”

“Nah. He’s a big, responsible wolf boy, and we’re on pack territory. What’s the worst that might happen here - Crosby and Malkin beating him up outside the locker room and taking his lunch money?” Thorty joked, just as Patrice appeared in the doorway.

“Looks like lunch money is safe,” Krejci said as Patrice spotted the impromptu pack gathering and headed in their direction. He seemed a little unsettled - which, in Jagr’s mind, was never a good sign.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yes. I was speaking to Coach just then,” Patrice said. “He’ll be here shortly for a few brief words, and the media,” cue several groans, “the media,” he continued, “will be allowed in after that. Usual interviews, usual crowd. Jags and Thorty can keep the numbers down like last time.”

“For fire safety reasons, of course,” Jagr added with a mostly straight face, as the rest of the group laughed. Both had been scarily efficient at blocking the door to the dressing room, ensuring that only a certain number of reporters were allowed in at one time.

Patrice was smiling, even as he did a quick check of the room. “Dobby’s missing,” he said, after a while. “Tuukka, have you seen him?”

The goalie looked puzzled for a moment, before shaking his head. “We were talking to Daug earlier,” he said. “Then this _kusipää_ ,” indicating Thorty, “insisted I come ‘bond with the wolves’.”

Thorty reached across to give him a tap on the knee for that, as Jagr met Patrice’s eye. “I help you search?” he offered. Patrice looked relieved - “would you, Jags?” - and the two headed off.

Luckily for them, Khudobin was what the pack called a ‘wolf friend’ - a term first coined by Chara, as a direct translation from an equivalent word in Slovakian. As kin, the packscent associated with the Boston pack clung very strongly to him - and therefore, it was easy to follow the trail as it looped its way around the bowels of the Garden, eventually ending up at none other than the visitor’s dressing room, where –

“Is that Dobby and Malkin?” Patrice frowned. “I didn’t know the two knew each other.”

Jagr watched the two deep in conversation - he’d picked up some basic Russian from his time in the KHL, and they seemed to be discussing summer vacation plans - Malkin leaning against the wall, Dobby gesturing animatedly while still mostly dressed in his goalie equipment.

“I know his great-grandfather was well regarded alpha in Russia,” he said. “I would not be surprised if he knows Russian wolves in NHL.”

Patrice chuckled. “Which would be all of them,” he said, before looking over at Jagr. “Shall we collect our stray cub?”

Jagr nodded and the two of them started to make their way over, just as the visitor’s dressing room door opened and -- it had been many years, but he’d know that scent from a mile away.

“Geno? The bus arrives in a couple minutes, and Sid hasn’t moved. We’ve tried everything, but he will not budge from that stall.”

Malkin nodded.  “I go now,” he said to Dobby. “Sid not take losing very well. We all not like, of course, but Sid…” The two Russians exchanged hugs and a few final words, before Malkin headed back into the dressing room. “Sidney!--” was the last Jagr heard from Malkin, before the door closed behind him.

Which left Jagr face to face in that corridor with none other than Mario Lemieux. The two hadn’t spoken in person since Jagr’s acrimonious departure from Pittsburgh – and the pack - but Mario’s scent was still the same as it ever was, curling around the edges of the strong Boston packscent that permeated through the Garden and all but suppressed any others.

If Jagr had been younger, he would have dropped fang and issued a challenge immediately - as it was, both remained silent, staring at each other and waiting to see who would make the first move.

Patrice took one look at the situation and quickly ushered Dobby down the corridor towards the Bruins dressing room. “Back in a moment,” he murmured, squeezing Jagr’s shoulder as he passed.

After they had gone, Mario spoke up. “Congratulations on the win,” he said. “You played well.”

“The team played well,” Jagr corrected. He couldn’t take full credit for the win, because this was truly a team victory. “I hit many goalposts and Vokoun.”

Mario nodded. “Yeah, Voky was lights out,” he said. “I can tell you right now, if he’s in net at Sochi, Canada is not going to stand a chance.”

There was awkward silence for a moment as the two kept staring at each other, and Jagr was just about to make his polite farewell, when Mario spoke again. “Look,” he said, “I know this is a bit out of left field, but would you be free for a late supper tonight?”

To say the offer was ‘a bit out of left field’ was understating it. After a few polite words, Mario was extending him a dinner invitation? Jagr was immediately suspicious.

“I’m not talking about where I go next season until this one is over,” he said.

Mario held up his hands. “This isn’t Penguins related,” he said. “It’s more…personal.”

“Personal,” Jagr repeated. “You want maybe to bury the hatchet?” Stranger things had happened, after all.

“Maybe,” Mario said. “It’s been long enough. But supper first.” He looked over at Jagr. “My wife and I have reservations at a local Italian restaurant at around eleven, if you can make it.”

“I can,” Jagr said. “If your wife doesn’t mind?”

Mario laughed. “Oh, Nathalie gets to see my face often enough in the offseason, she won’t mind. Fair warning - she’ll probably ask you for all my embarrassing stories.”

“I won’t say a word, if you not tell her mine,” Jagr said. “I see you then?” Out of impulse, he offered Mario his hand – not his neck; not yet. Mario looked confused for a moment, before he reached out to clasp it. His grip was still as firm as ever. “Tresca, on Hanover Street, about eleven thirty, or as soon as you can make it after the debriefing and pressers,” he said, before dropping Jagr’s hand and then disappearing back inside the visitor’s dressing room as quickly as he had arrived.

“Looch was all for sending a rescue party once he knew who you were meeting with,” Patrice said as he appeared around the corner, “but cooler heads prevailed.” He took in the scene with a glance, visibly sniffing the air. “Everything alright?”

Jagr nodded, still stunned - and more than a little perplexed - from the whole chain of events. “No need for rescue party,” he said, finally. “Not now, at least.”

Patrice pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere, Jags?”

“I accepted supper invitation. With Mario.”

The expression on Patrice’s face probably mirrored his own. “Looks like you’ll be needing those drinks at the Fours, then.”

* * *

After many, many bottles of Sam Adams at the Fours – thank goodness for wolf tolerance to alcohol - Patrice offered to drive Jagr to his dinner appointment. It was an offer which Jagr gratefully accepted, but he would have been less eager to take up the offer had he known that the ride in Patrice’s car would come with one Mark Recchi attached to the back seat. Not that Jagr had any real issue with Rex - the beta had been instrumental in ‘fixing’ the initial rift between Patrice and himself, after all - but Recchi had a fountain of stories from his time spent with the Penguins, and Jagr had been embarrassed enough already by Recchi’s initial text messages to Patrice - which had contained everything from ‘potential blackmail material’ to ‘Jagr-handling tips.’ The last thing Patrice and the younger Bruins needed was more stories of the ‘mullet era,’ or, as Rex called it in a text to Bergy, ‘the time when Jags moonlighted for Vidal Sassoon.’

The restaurant itself turned out to be a very nice looking place in Boston’s North End. There was no sign of Mario outside, as Patrice backed the car into a parking spot across the street.

Recchi leaned forward in his seat, looking across at the restaurant. “Tresca, huh?” he said.  “All the Italian restaurants in Boston, and Mario had to pick this place.”

Jagr looked a little confused at this statement. “Why? Is bad restaurant?”

“Why?! Bergy, have you guys not--?”

Patrice shook  his head. “No, not yet.”

Recchi started laughing. “Boy, are you going to be in for a surprise tonight!” He was all but rubbing his hands together with glee when he turned to Patrice. “Can we--”

“No, Rex. **We** are going back to the hotel, where your lovely wife is patiently waiting for us. Let Jags have his supper in peace.” Patrice offered his neck to Jagr, who accepted it - a rare gesture of submission and comfort between the two alphas. “Good luck?”

Recchi grinned. “Yeah - happy hunting, Thunderthighs.”

Jagr curled his lip at Recchi as he exited the car, closing the door just as he heard Patrice’s  curious, “’Thunderthighs’?” Fantastic.

There was still no sign of Mario, so Jagr decided to wait inside. As he stepped through the doors, he heard his name being called - but while the person doing the calling originally hailed from Quebec, his last name wasn’t Lemieux.

“Ray?” Jagr was surprised to see Bourque there, but he greeted the man warmly. Jagr had spent several full moon nights with the Bruins alumni - or as Derek Sanderson called them, the pack’s ‘geriatric wing’- when he couldn’t travel with the team because of the flu bug, and Ray and the others had welcomed him into their little group. “You here for dinner, too?”

Ray laughed. “In a matter of speaking.” Then, when Jagr gave him a quizzical look, he added, “I own this place, Jags.”

Jagr nodded, even as he realised now what Recchi was trying to tell him earlier. This dinner could get very interesting, very quickly once the Lemieuxs arrived.

Ray frowned as he flipped through the reservation book. “I don’t see your name in here. Did you make a booking, or is this a walk-in? I don’t have a spare table, but we could squeeze you in at the bar, if you just wanted a drink and some light snacks.”

“No, is okay. I was invited by a-” quick pause - “..friend, and I don’t know what name they made the reservation under,” he said. If Mario knew who owned the place, it’s likely he didn’t make a reservation under the name ‘Lemieux’. “Maybe if I can wait at the bar until they arrive?”

That suggestion was accepted by Ray, who led Jagr through the restaurant to the bar, which offered a good view of the main dining area. It was also where another ex-Bruin and member of the Boston pack - Terry O’Reilly - was holding court over a glass of beer and platter of antipasti. Terry greeted Jagr with his usual enthusiasm - immediately engulfing Jagr in a bear hug - and was more than happy to make room for him at the bar, though not as happy when Jagr ‘acquired’ a large portion of his bruschetta.

More than a few minutes were passed in pleasant conversation with the two, before once again, Jagr smelt the familiar scent, just as Terry nudged him in the ribs.

“Hey, Jags,” Terry said, “Look who just walked in the joint.” He turned to Ray, who was casually polishing glasses behind the bar. “Doesn’t this place have a rule regarding the banning of Penguins?”

“No,” Ray said, “otherwise I’d have a rule about the banning of certain Bruins,” and here he shot Terry an almost alpha-worthy glare, leaving the other to throw his hands up in submission, and offer Ray a bread stick. Ray Bourque - much like Lucic - was another one of those betas who did not submit to alpha suggestions easily. When Jagr had asked about it once, Ray referred to his time spent in Colorado, when he was on a team with both Sakic and Roy - both strong alphas, if Jagr remembered correctly - as having made him almost immune to alpha suggestion.

The three of them watched as the Lemieuxs were escorted to a table, then again as Mario glanced over in their direction. Jagr started to get up from his seat, just as Terry placed a hand on his arm.

“Hey, Jags,” he said, “don’t tell me that _Lemieux_ is the friend you were waiting for?”

Jagr nodded, as Terry made a face. “Geez Louise. But I thought you two were on the outs since Philly - how come you’re the best of friends now?”

“We’re not,” Jagr said. “He approach me after the game, ask me to dinner - first time we’ve spoken in years.” He shrugged. “No idea why now, but I think maybe to see if we can put the past behind.” He smiled. “Or maybe be in the same room without fighting.”

Terry looked very doubtful, but Ray nodded. “You two were a pretty good team, back in the day,” he said. “And it’s always a shame when people let pride get in the way of a good friendship.” (There was a very unsubtle cough of “BobbyandPhil” from Terry). He put the glass he was polishing down, then came out from behind the bar, extending a hand. “Shall I escort you to your table?”

Jagr would have waved off the offer, but there was something in Ray’s face which told him that it wasn’t optional - so he allowed himself to be led by Ray to where the Lemieuxs were sitting. “Enjoy your evening,” he said. “I’ll send someone over in a moment to take your orders.”

After he had gone, Mario looked over at Jagr. “Was I seeing things, or was that really Ray Bourque?”

“No, is Wayne Gretzky,” Jagr said with a completely straight face. Mario’s expression didn’t change, though Jagr thought he saw a small smile at the corner of his lips. “Ray co-owns restaurant. You knew this?”

“I had no idea,” Mario said. “A friend of mine recommended Tresca as being one of the better Italian restaurants in Boston; for the food and for the privacy.” He frowned. “That would explain why this whole place smells so strongly of the Boston pack.”

“His head was turning around so much, I thought I’d brought along one of those bobblehead dolls to dinner, not my husband,” said the blonde seated next to Mario, smiling as she indicated that Jagr should sit. He remembered Mario’s wife Nathalie from the Cup run, and then later, while Mario was undergoing cancer treatment, but the two had never really spent much time together without Mario being there with them. 

“You know,” Nathalie said to Jagr as he settled in his chair, “Mario was just telling me that I might have trouble recognising you without your questionable hairstyle choice.”

 “Hey, was good mullet,” Jagr said. “Very fashionable back then.”

Mario snorted. “You looked like Farrah Fawcett from the back.”

Jagr gave Nathalie a conspiratorial look. “Your husband,” he said, “is...how you say, throwing stones at glass houses. He had long mane, too.”

Nathalie laughed. “Oh boy, don’t I know it. First thing I did, after we married? Send him to a hairdresser for a trim.”

“She’s exaggerating,” Mario said. “And it was the nineties! Did you see Gretzky out there? He looked like he should’ve been in a shampoo commercial.”

“Recchi call him ‘Goldilocks’ one game, to try and put him off,” Jagr told Nathalie. “Didn’t work - he score so many times on our goalie, and then Rex get sent to penalty box.”

“Oh, I remember that game,” said Mario. “Wayne skated past me after Rex was sent to the box, and I could have sworn he was smirking.”

As Nathalie made some comment about asking Gretzky about it the next time they met for golf, Jagr sat back in his chair, idly studying the menu. The whole experience was still a little surreal - he and Mario hadn’t spoken in over a decade. And while the conversation wasn’t exactly what you would call natural right now, it couldn’t be that easy to repair what was broken, surely?

Luckily, at that moment Jagr’s musings were interrupted by the arrival of one of the waiters.

“Can I take your order?”

The voice was a little too familiar, and Jagr looked up sharply. Sure enough - and he’d recognise that mustache anywhere, now - there was Derek Sanderson, dressed in waiter’s attire and carrying an order pad, with a particular twinkle in his eye that really did not bode well for anyone.

Jagr made his order, before trying to figure out what exactly Derek was doing there. “Is financial business so bad you have to moonlight as a waiter?” he politely inquired.

To his credit, Derek did not take the bait. “I have no idea what you are talking about, sir,” he said. “You must have me mistaken with someone else. Sir? Ma’am?”  he said, catching the Lemieuxs’ attention. “Are you ready to order?”

Nathalie was, Mario wasn’t. “Is there anything on the menu you could recommend?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked over at Derek. No doubt he could smell the pack scent all over Derek, but if he recognised their waiter by sight, Mario said nothing about it. 

There was that mischievous gleam in Derek’s eyes again as Mario spoke, so Jagr quickly cut in before Derek could cause any trouble. “Nothing that the owner,” and here he cast a significant glance back at the bar where Ray was, “would not approve of.”

Derek could have won an Oscar for his performance. “Of course, sir,” he said. “If I could turn your attention to the specials…”

Once they all had ordered, the conversation started back up, and Jagr found himself forgetting to be concerned about what exactly Derek was doing there. Nathalie was very charming and pleasant, and Mario was much the same as ever. Despite everything that had happened between them, and worry about what this whole invitation was about,  Mario still had a distracting smile and a comforting presence that made Jagr feel more at ease as the evening went on.

There were, however, some rough spots - such as the awkward moment when Philadelphia was first mentioned.

Mario and Jagr glared at each other across the table for a long, tense moment, before Jagr dropped his gaze first. “Philadelphia was not good time for me,” he said. “I liked the hockey and the pack members well enough, but the Ferox….” He looked up again. “Was one of the reasons I agree to go to Dallas. No pack politics, just play good hockey. I needed that, I think.”

“Pittsburgh wasn’t an option?” Nathalie inquired.

Another tense moment, before Jagr spoke again. “Not then,” he said. “Still too fresh in everyone’s minds,” knocking your former team out of Playoff contention would do that for you, “too many bad feelings for everyone. Now?” he shrugged. “Maybe. I like Boston - the pack and the city - so we see what happens after this.” This time, he did meet Mario’s gaze. “But we can still talk, even if I decide to stay in Boston. I would like that.”

Mario didn’t respond, and there was another brief standoff as the two stared at each other across the table - which was fortunately interrupted by the arrival of their dishes. Jagr caught the familiar packscent as the waiter leaned across him - and looking up, there was yet another familiar face dressed in a waiter’s uniform. This time, it was Brad Park. “Tresca have a policy of hiring former Bruins players as waiters?” Jagr asked.

“Only when serving former Penguins,” Brad said - his acting skills were not quite on par to Derek’s, and there was definitely a broad smile on his face as he said that. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Well, that wasn’t ominous at all, or anything,” Nathalie joked once he had gone. “Think we should check the food before eating?”

“Meal should be fine,” Jagr said. “But I think maybe pack is planning something.” He did a quick glance around the restaurant, filtering through the general packscent that lingered around the restaurant, to see if he could pick out any individual members that might be present in the building.

Ray and Terry were still at the bar, there was Derek and Brad joining them, and….Jagr frowned suddenly, as he recognised two more from the pack in the restaurant. Getting up from his chair –ignoring for the moment the puzzled looks he was getting from Mario and Nathalie - Jagr headed to a nearby table, where he whipped the menu out of one of the patron’s hands. “You would make very bad spy,” he said. “Hiding behind menu and newspaper? Really?”

“Well, you didn’t notice us until just now,” Cam Neely said, as he calmly retrieved the menu and pulled off his Red Sox cap. 

“Only because I was distracted by fine ‘acting,’” and here he actually used air quotes as he spoke, “skills of waiters,” he said.

The other person seated at Cam’s table sighed, as he put down his newspaper. “I knew it was a bad idea, sending Derek in there first,” said Bobby Orr. “You know Turk - he can’t resist embellishing a good story.”

“Brad was worse.” He regarded Cam and Bobby - both former Feroxes, and still respected wolves in the pack - with curiosity. “Why send them in first place?” He paused. “And for that matter, why are you both here?”

Cam tried to look innocent. “Would you believe that the two of us just wanted some supper after the game?” Jagr shot him a glare, and he sighed. “Fine - we were concerned for you.”

“Concerned?”

“Well, when Ray told us who you were meeting,” said Cam, “and don’t blame him by the way - given the history between you two, Bobby and I thought you could use a little pack support.” He paused. “So, here we all are.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Jagr said. “I never- haven’t been so close to a pack since I leave Pittsburgh.”

Bobby chuckled. “That’s Boston for you,” he said. “Milt always says the city gets deep in your bones if you live here long enough, and the pack is much the same.”

“Plus,” added Cam, “we like you, and dislike the Penguins. Win-win all around.”

“You staying now, or--”

“Hey, you’re not getting rid of us so easily, pal,” Cam said. “We’ll stick around for a bit. But don’t worry - you won’t have any more ‘waiters’ dropping by your table.”

“Now they’ll just glare at Mario from the bar,” Bobby added. “I’m surprised he hasn’t burnt to a crisp, with the way Terry has been giving him the evil eye.”

As Jagr headed back to the table, he found himself on the receiving end of two curious Lemieux stares. “Is everything alright?” Nathalie asked.

Jagr nodded. “All fine,” he said. “Pack is just concerned, but will not bother us for rest of the evening.”

Of course, as he said that, a hand slammed down on the table, making them all jump. Jagr didn’t need to look up to know who it was, but he did anyway - only to meet Mark Recchi’s smiling face. “Hello there, lovebirds!” he said.

On the other side of Recchi, Patrice pinched the bridge of his nose. “I tried to keep him away for as long as I could,” he told Jagr. “But you know Rex - once he gets an idea into his head….”

Jagr reached out to pat Patrice on the arm. “It’s okay,” he said. “I know. Rex is very persistent.”

The man in question was currently hassling Mario - “No, seriously - you’re on a date with him? That’s adorable”- while Nathalie watched, clearly amused.

“Is he always like this?” she asked.

“Unfortunately.” Patrice sighed. “I’d better go rescue him, before he ends up in trouble. Rex!” He hurried over and tugged on Recchi’s sleeve. “Leave them be, now.”

“Aw.” Recchi gave a puppy-dog look. “But I was just getting started!”

“I know,” he said, “which is why we are going, to-”

“Ray and Terry and others at the bar,” Jagr supplied, helpfully.

“The bar,” Patrice said. “Exactly.” He stuck a hand in the air, waving it around in an attempt to attract Ray’s attention. It worked, as Ray headed their way only moments later. He took one look at the situation, then looked over at Patrice and Jagr. “Bar?” he asked.

“Bar,” Patrice said firmly.

Recchi threw his hands up in the air in mock-surrender. “Alright,” he said, heading off in the direction helpfully pointed out by Ray (and nudged along by Patrice). However, being Recchi, he couldn’t resist one final parting shot. “Enjoy your date night, Jags!”

Jagr watched him go - that last comment of Recchi’s earnt him a sharp elbow from Patrice.

“Date night,” he said, shaking his head. “Only Rex.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ray said. He had remained at their table after Patrice and Recchi left, picking up some of the empty plates, and now wore a sly grin on his face. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were trying to date you, too.” He gave Mario and Nathalie a jaunty wave. “Have a good evening, and let me know if you need any candles!”

Jagr watched Ray head off, whistling, before he groaned, putting his head down on the table. “Terrible.” If he could somehow sink into the table, he would have. “Pack is terrible.”

He felt a light touch on his arm, and looked up. “Pack usually is,” said Nathalie. “But it’s good to see.”

“You look…happy,” Mario said, as they busied themselves with their dinner.

Jagr smiled broadly. “Yes,” he said. “I like being here. Good team, good coach, good city. Hope that maybe I can stay beyond this season. Maybe even retire here, like Rex did.” He bent down to retrieve the wine bottle, which Mario had earlier insisted that he put under the table. It was once of the peculiar habits that Jagr remembered – Mario liked to keep his workspaces neat and free of clutter, which also included dining tables. As he straightened up, bottle in hand, Jagr thought he saw Mario regarding him with a peculiar look on his face, almost as if Jagr had slapped it. Not wanting to be an impolite guest, he offered the wine bottle to Mario. “You want refill?”

* * *

Jagr stepped out of the office door, closing it behind him. It was done. He’d hoped against hope that the decision by management would go a little differently - he’d only been with the team a short time, but he’d got enough of a ‘taste’ for the team and the pack to start thinking that Boston was a place he could actually see himself putting down roots in. Only now…

Krejci was waiting for him in the corridor outside. “They not bring you back next year?” he asked. Jagr nodded, and wasn’t surprised when the younger wolf immediately crossed over to where he was standing, offering the right side of his neck. Jagr let his fingers brush along it, before gripping Krejci’s shoulder and pulling him into a hug - something which Krejci did not object to at all, as he hugged back.

“I hoped,” said Krejci, breaking in Czech, “that we had more time to spend together. Maybe even a chance to play together on the same line.” He sighed, leaning more of his weight on Jagr.

“I know,” Jagr said. He took a moment to savour the younger wolf’s scent - Krejci’s own, which reminded him of the Czech Republic, overlaid with Lucic’s and the scent he always associated with Horton. Despite being very much human, there was no doubt Horton was ‘claimed’ by his linemates, even if he was unaware of that fact. Through it all was the the overarching packscent Jagr had come to associate with Boston, which always reminded him of fresh ice.

“I want to stay, too,” he said. “I like this team, and this city. More than any other place I have played except Pittsburgh, it came to feel like home, and the team like family. Bobby was right when he said the city gets deep in your bones. But,” he added, “I also know hockey is a business. That cuts and trades have to be made. And with the cap going down next season…” he said, “Chiarelli cannot afford to keep us all.”

Krejci looked up, suddenly determined. “We are still family, even though management might say otherwise,” he said. “Maybe when we both go back home, you could visit?”

Jagr smiled, letting his fingers brush along Krejci’s neck. “Of course,” he said. “And remember, Sochi is this year, too. If we both get selected for the Olympic team, we could still play together.”

“Yes. And oh!” Krejci smiled. “They tell me I’ve won the Golden Stick this year.”

“It’s an ugly looking thing,” Jagr said, teasingly. “But well deserved and earned.” He started heading back towards the locker room, arm still around Krejci. Only when they entered the locker room, did Jagr finally let go. “Give me Czech number before you leave the country, okay?” he said, switching back into English (it was a rule amongst the Bruins that while in the locker room, the main language to be spoken was to be English). “We train together during the offseason.”

Krejci nodded, before reaching over to hug Jagr. “I give at dinner tonight,” he said, before heading out the door.

As Jagr finished putting the last of his gear into his bag (his precious sticks were already sitting on the side, waiting for him to deal with - the equipment staff knew by now not to do anything drastic with those), he noticed Brad Marchand seated in his mostly empty locker stall. Putting his gear down for a moment, Jagr headed over and seated himself next to Marchand.

“You look like you just discover Thorty ate all your dinner and dessert,” he said.

Marchy looked up, eyes flickering yellow briefly, before he wordlessly curled into Jagr’s side. “Is it true?” he said. “That you’re not going to be coming back next season.”

“Chiarelli tell me so, yes.”

“Ugh.” Marchy pressed himself even more against Jagr, breathing in his scent. “Stupid cap,” he mumbled. “Ferry’s gone, Dobby might not be able to come back, and now you’re leaving.”

Jagr reached out to place an arm around Marchy. “Leaving the team, yes,” he said. “But unless Daniel or Cam or Bobby say otherwise, I still want to stay with pack. Okay?”

Marchy smiled. “Yeah,” he said, “I can live with that. Just…promise me you won’t go and sign a contract with the freakin’ Habs, okay?”

“Why not? I always want to play for Canadian team,” Jagr said, then ducked as Marchy took a swipe at him. “Fine, not Habs. Who else?”

“Um,” Marchy began, then started ticking off names on his fingers, “No Habs, no Canucks - they kinda hate our guts. Leafs too, after the playoffs we’ve just had. Flames are just bad - like, bottom of the league basement bad. Oilers don’t take anybody over the age of thirty, it seems. Jets…well, there’s next to nothing to do in Winnipeg. Maybe the Senators? They’re a pretty good team, if you wanted to stay in the East.” He smiled. “Heck, we’re practically second cousins once removed or something, what with so many of our guys being ex-Sens.”

“I’ll remember,” Jagr said, before looking back at Marchy. “Have you finished packing?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve got almost everything.” Marchy pointed out at the locker room. “Looks wierd, huh?” he said. “All that empty space. No chatter, no Coach coming through the door with plans, no Tuukka with his loud opera…I mean, Finnish metal music,” and here both of them smiled for a moment, “just…nothing. Until next season.” He sighed, leaning back against Jagr again. “Hey, I was thinking of visiting Bergy at the hospital, after this,” he said. “You want to come with?”

Jagr nodded. “Would love to,” he said. He hadn’t had a chance to visit Patrice since the Cup Final.

Marchy visibly brightened at this. “C’mon, then!” He slid off the bench, practically tugging Jagr along with him.

Once their gear had been collected, the two headed down the corridor. Marchy was just in the middle of telling Jagr about how they should give Bergy a joke present (“the poor guy sounds like he needs some cheering up - though maybe not _too_ much, or he might break something vital if he laughs too hard…”), when they came across Cam Neely.

“Hey, boys,” he said. “Heading home?”

“Going to visit Bergy at the hospital,” Marchy said. “You want to come?”

“I might, actually,” Cam said. “I want to pass him a little something from Charlie Jacobs.” He looked over at Marchy and Jagr. “You two know he’s getting married later this month?”

Marchy grinned. “I should hope so,” he said, “seeing as he’s asked Jags and I to be his groomsmen. And hey,” he added, nudging Jagr in the ribs, “I forgot – with the wedding, you get to visit Quebec after all. And all without having to pull on a Habs jersey.”

Cam made a face at that. “Anyone but the Habs,” he said, looking across at Jagr. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about that, actually,” he said. “I spoke with Daniel and Bobby, and they both agreed that you’re still considered a part of the pack.” He smiled. “So don’t think you can escape from us that easily.”

Jagr laughed. “Would not dream of it,” he said. He met Cam’s gaze directly. “Thank you,” he said. “Means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, we like you even though our GM doesn’t,” Marchy said. “We could have a ‘stray dog’ go through his office, and eat the relevant papers….”

“No, Marchy,” both Cam and Jagr said at the same time.

“We’ve done such a great job of keeping ourselves hidden from humans, so far,” Cam said. “With an act like that, we might as well install a flashing sign saying ‘werewolves here!’ on top of the Garden. And besides,” he added, “chewing up and destroying Pete’s office would do no good. You’d need to go to Toronto and do the same to Bettman’s office and…” he paused, fixing Marchy with a firm stare. “That’s not a suggestion, by the way.”

Marchy snapped his fingers. “Well, darn!” he said. “There goes my cunning plan.”

Jagr cuffed the back of Marchy’s head, as Cam sighed. “Come on, you two,” he said. “Put your gear away, and I’ll give you a ride to the hospital.”

As they left the Garden in Cam’s car, Jagr decided to send Mario a text. True to his word, the two had exchanged numbers after the dinner, and remained in contact in the month following the Pens’ Playoff loss. Despite his initial skepticism, Jagr had actually found it easy to talk to Mario, and the two had several amusing message exchanges through the Chicago series, with Mario even stating that he was planning on attending Game 7. Of course, that had never come to pass, but Jagr greatly appreciated the offer all the same.

**Going to free agency :(**

As Cam pulled into the parking lot, Jagr’s phone beeped.

**Chiarelli is an idiot for letting you go. Salary cap issues?**

Jagr smiled to himself as he typed out a reply.

**Probably. Still considered part of pack though. Ferox not an idiot :)**

Jagr tucked his phone away into his pocket as the three of them headed into Patrice’s room. He was surprised and pleased to see them - even as Marchy took the opportunity to settle in next to Patrice on the bed, careful not to place any of his weight on Patrice’s injuries. Shaking their heads almost simultaneously, Jagr and Cam settled in chairs on either side of the bed.

Cam pressed an expensively wrapped package into Patrice’s hand: “a little wedding present, from the Jacobs family,” while Marchy gleefully presented him with a felt doll of Jonathan Toews: “for voodoo purposes! Segs and I spent hours on it.”

Jagr and Patrice exchanged almost identical looks -part exasperation, part smile, almost standard issue when dealing with a personality like Marchy’s -  before Jagr offered to take him out for drinks once he was released from hospital - which, according to Patrice, should happen any day soon, and he would be delighted.

All in all, the visit was going well - and then, Jagr’s phone beeped again. Ignoring the chirps from Marchy - “New girl, Jags?” - he pulled it out from his pocket…and blinked. Once, twice, and still the message remained the same.

**Want to stay in Pittsburgh with us for a while?**

Excusing himself from the room - and Marchy’s teasing - Jagr stepped outside and dialled the number.  “Serious about invitation?” he asked, as soon as the person on the other end picked up.

“I wouldn’t have offered, if I wasn’t,” Mario said. “You sound like you could use a break.”

“Maybe a little,” Jagr admitted. “I won’t be trouble?”

Mario chuckled. “I have two teenagers in and out of the house at all hours,” he said. “What’s one more houseguest?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, before Nathalie’s voice cut in. “Now I don’t often get to say this,” she said, “but Mario is right. We’d love to have you with us.”

While he still had some reservations about the whole thing, the idea that Mario was willing to extend the olive branch further by inviting Jagr into his own house, spoke volumes for him.

“Then I accept.”

“Good! I’ll pass you back to Mario, now.”

Mario chuckled. “So that’s that, then,” he said. “Just let us know when you plan on coming over - we’ll be staying in Pittsburgh over the summer this year, so, whenever you’re ready.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, during which Mario as Jagr to pass on his regards to Bergeron and hopes for a swift recovery, they ended the call. 

When he stepped back into the room, Jagr noticed all three heads turn immediately in his direction. “What?”

“Making plans for the offseason, already?” Marchy said, with an innocent look on his face.

Jagr could have slapped himself for forgetting that everyone in the room were wolves, and therefore had excellent hearing - especially since he’d forgotten to close the door the entire way.

“Living up to your nickname,” he said, reaching out to tweak Marchy’s nose. “Mario invite me to come stay in Pittsburgh.”

“Mario?” Marchy’s eyes were wide. “Mario Lemieux?”

“How many other Marios do we know who live in Pittsburgh?” Cam said. He turned to Jagr. “I don’t like it - you two weren’t exactly speaking until recently. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Why not?” Patrice offered. “It’s only a visit - not like you’re going to move into his house. Can’t hurt.” He grinned wickedly. “Of course, if I’m wrong, let us know, and we’ll send Thorty or Looch to beat him up.”

“Count me in on that,” Cam said. “On both fronts.”

As Marchy chimed in with his agreement, Jagr sat back in his chair, smiling a little. He wasn’t quite sure where he stood with Mario yet, but at least he knew he still had the support of his pack, whatever happened.

* * *

Jagr recognised Mario’s scent the moment he stepped out of the Pittsburgh airport.  

“Surprise!”  Nathalie looked quite pleased with herself as she waved, and even Mario looked happy.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said, as he headed over to where they were waiting. “Didn’t expect you to come.”

“That’s the whole point of a surprise,” Nathalie said with a grin. “You were coming in on a late flight…so we thought, why not?” She nudged Mario. “Be a good host and take his bags, will you?”

Mario sketched a mock bow, before he reached down to grab Jagr’s suitcase. He was about to pick up the equipment bag with his other hand - frowning at the spoked B that adorned it - then stopped and looked at Jagr.

“Sticks in there?” he asked. Jagr nodded, and Mario straightened up. “Then that one’s yours.” Off his wife’s questioning look, “He’s got a ‘thing’ about other people handling his sticks,” he said. “Shall we?”

Jagr picked up the equipment bag and followed the Lemieuxs to their car, surprised - and maybe just a little flattered - that Mario still remembered his little quirk regarding his hockey sticks.

“You’d sleep with them under your pillow, if you could,” he remembered Mario saying once, after he’d all but growled at one of the equipment managers.

Jagr slid into the back seat of the Lemieuxs’ car, as Mario and Nathalie put his luggage in the trunk - the equipment bag, of course, he handled himself. After a while, the back door opened, and with his eyes half closed, he smelt rather than saw Mario settle into the seat next to him.

“You look tired,” Mario said.

There was a snort from Nathalie as she started the car - “Stating the obvious, dear?”  - but Jagr nodded.

“Tried to sleep on flight,” he said, “but there was baby crying somewhere on plane.” The enhanced senses that came with being a werewolf were very useful on the ice - experienced wolves could hear and sense where the puck was at all times, without having to look - but sometimes, they could be a drawback. Like on long flight from Boston to Pittsburgh, when a baby’s cries from somewhere near the back of the plane sounded like they were coming from the seat right next to you.

Mario gave him a sympathetic look. “The drive’s not too far,” he said, “and the kids are in their rooms, so they should be quiet.”

Jagr nodded, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. The next thing he was aware of, was someone gently shaking him.

“Hey,” Mario’s voice sounded close. “I need my arm back now - we’re here.”

Startled, Jagr opened his eyes to realise that he had been using Mario as a pillow, with his head resting quite comfortably on Mario’s arm. “Sorry,” he said, quickly straightening up.

Mario looked quite unruffled by it all, even as he opened the car door. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Come on,” he said, offering a hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

Jagr stared at the offered hand for a moment, like he was afraid that it - and the offer to stay - would be withdrawn at any moment. But it was late, he was tired, and this was not the time for self-reflection. So instead, he grasped Mario’s hand, and allowed himself to be led from the car and to the Lemieux house. 


	3. Part II.

### 

Jagr had always been an early riser, and this morning was no exception. He’d slept very well the previous night, practically falling into bed right away. This was despite the fact that the guest wing of the house still had many of Crosby’s things in it, and still smelt strongly - to a wolf, at least - of Crosby. Alphas were very particular about other alphas being in ‘their’ territory, so it really showed how exhausted Jagr was the other night, that he only really felt uncomfortable about being in essentially what was Crosby’s territory when he woke the following morning.

As he made his way down to the kitchen area, he was surprised to see Mario there, busying himself at the stove. He’d barely taken a few steps down the stairs, when Mario turned in his direction, brandishing a spatula and wearing a ridiculous looking apron. “Don’t laugh,” he said, waving the spoon in Jagr’s direction, “or you won’t get any oatmeal.” 

“Would not dare,” Jagr said - with a smirk on his face. “Have coffee?”

“Just made a fresh pot,” Mario said, turning his attention back to the stove. “Help yourself - this shouldn’t take too long.”

Jagr seated himself at the island bench in the middle of the kitchen area, enjoying the aroma and taste of freshly brewed coffee. It wasn’t long before Mario joined him, and the two ate in relative silence for a while.

“I know it’s still early,” Mario began, “and you’re technically on vacation and all - but how’d you feel about a game of hockey?”

Jagr laughed. “Ask a stupid question,” he said. “Is never too early for hockey. Where?” 

“Ah.” Mario looked quite pleased at this. “That’s the fun part. It’s the last staff game for the season at CONSOL, before they put the ice away.” He looked over at Jagr. “My team’s been getting its collective ass kicked by Dan’s, and I could use some help.”

 

Which was how he and Mario found themselves in the dressing room at CONSOL Energy Center. It was a little strange to be in the Penguins’ dressing room, watching Mario put on hockey gear again. It was a different building than the one he knew back then, but if he squinted a little, he could almost see a much younger Mario walk through the door brandishing the Stanley Cup.

As he finished lacing up his skates and pulling on the borrowed black Pens jersey - he had a Bruins practice jersey on originally, but that was immediately vetoed - Mario gave him a quick run-down of the players involved. It was mostly members of the Penguins’ coaching staff versus others involved with the Penguins organisation - though at the last game Dan Byslma managed to sneak James Neal into his lineup, passing him off as a ‘junior coaching assistant.’ That was a bluff which almost worked… at least, up unto the point when they actually hit the ice.

“I told Dan I was bringing a friend along,” Mario said, “but I might have made it sound like you were visiting from overseas, and only a casual hockey player? So play along for a bit. At least until the game starts.” 

Jagr laughed, but he did as he was told - pulling a Red Sox cap low over his face and tugging at Mario’s sleeve and pointing at random things in the arena, speaking in a mixture of Czech and broken English, as Mario introduced Jagr as a “friend visiting from Prague. Doesn’t speak much English, but he’s terribly enthusiastic about hockey.” Jagr remembered to look away as Mario introduced him, to prevent recognition, as Mario delivered the kicker. “He plays in an amateur league, so go easy on him, will you?” Mario looked positively angelic as he said this, and it took all of Jagr’s control to stop himself from laughing and giving the game away. 

Byslma seemed to buy Mario’s explanation, despite Jagr’s incredibly bad acting skills - he would never make fun of Turk or Parky for ‘overacting’ ever again - and it even seemed to convince some of Mario’s own teammates, who crowded around the two of them once Bylsma had left.

“Hey,” Phil Bourque said, “I thought you had some kind of plan to beat Danny-boy at his own game.”

Again with the innocent look. “I did,” Mario said.

“No offence, Mario, but I don’t call bringing along your friend who played beer league hockey in Prague a ‘plan.’”

Jagr and Mario exchanged looks of amusement as the rest of the team panicked, before Jagr decided to fill them in. “Kladno, actually,” he said, removing his cap and looking Phil directly in the eye. 

It didn’t take long for them to catch on - starting with Phil, who burst out laughing. “I’d love to see the look on his face when he finds out!”

“Well, we’re not going to find out anything by just standing here,” Mario said. “Let’s go play some hockey, shall we?”

 

And so they did.

 

It wasn’t apparent at first to Dan and his team that they had been sold a ringer - mostly because Mario instructed Jagr to ‘take it easy on them’ for a while, while making sure that the two of them were not on the ice at the same time. But after a couple of shifts in which James Neal was making them all look a bit silly, Mario looked over at Jagr.

“I think we’re done being subtle,” he said. “You and me, we take the last shift. OK?” 

According to Phil, the moment the two of them hit the ice at the same time, the whole game changed. Maybe Phil was just exaggerating - his day job was in radio, after all - but somehow, it just felt…right; as if the two of them had picked up right where they had last left off. And it didn’t take long before Dan Byslma was shooting Mario some very dirty looks, after Jagr stole the puck away from Bylsma more than once. Even their teammates got into the act - chirping about how this shift was really just a game of keep-away between Jagr and Mario.

“Let someone else have a turn, will ya?” Phil said, as he skated past them. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.” Jagr paused for a moment, before he let a wrister fly in Phil’s direction. There was a yelp of surprise, then, “Thanks!”

Off Mario’s quizzical look as the two turned to get back into the play, Jagr merely shrugged. “He ask nicely.”

As the shift wound to a close, Jagr found himself in a battle along the boards for the puck with James Neal, who still seemed a little surprised that a supposed ‘amateur’ could be keeping up with him. Jagr knew Neal was a werewolf even without being told - the Pittsburgh packscent was all over him - so he let his eyes flash a little, as he took the puck away. Even without looking, he could sense that Mario was a little ahead of him, so once the puck was on his stick, he set up a pass that slid the puck neatly through the legs of the opposing defenseman, right to Mario’s waiting stick. Mario flashed him a smile, before skating hard towards the net, with Jagr and Phil hard on his heels. One sharp flick of the wrist which sent the puck flying past the goalie, and that was it. Game, set and match to Team Lemieux.

Jagr found himself scooped up in a spontaneous hug with Mario and Phil, as the rest of the group skated in their direction. Mario kept his arms slung around Jagr and Phil, as Dan approached them. “Good game, Dan,” he said. “That was fun.”

Dan looked at the three of them, his eyes falling on Jagr. “Friend from Prague,” he said, shaking his head. “Amateur league.”

“Junior assistant coach,” Phil said, gesturing in the direction of James Neal.

“Touché,” Jagr added, tipping his stick at Dan. 

“I feel I should be angrier at you for pulling that stunt,” Byslma said to Mario, “except that I feel like I’ve witnessed something special.” He looked over at Jagr. “Are you…”

Jagr shook his head. “On vacation,” he said. “I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

Dan laughed. “Sure,” he said, as they started making their way off the ice. 

“No more stories from the nineties, though,” Mario warned. “This guy,” he indicated to Dan, “doesn’t need any more stories to pass on to the team.”

“Like ‘Disco Dan’ here can talk,” Phil said, as Dan winced. “Though I’m sure Nealsy could do with some hair care tips, eh, Jags?”

After some friendly chirping - Neal laughed off the comments about his hair, but Jagr decided to have a chat with the younger wolf, regardless - Neal, Phil and Dan headed towards the locker room, leaving Mario and Jagr alone on the ice.

 

Jagr skated in a lazy circle with one of the loose pucks, breathing in the smell of fresh ice. After a while, he heard the swish of skates, as Mario caught up with him. “Thanks for invitation,” he said, flicking the puck to Mario.

“No problem,” Mario said. “I really should organise an alumni game, one of these days,” he added, as he sent the puck back in Jagr’s direction. “I forgot how fun it is to play with the boys.” 

“Phil was right,” Jagr said, as he headed back towards the boards, puck still on his stick. “Look on Byslma’s face was priceless.” He slid to a stop. “Open bench door - I want to see if I can get puck through doorway.”

Mario laughed. “Have you been watching Sid’s commercials with the family dryer?” he said - but he hopped off the ice and opened the door, regardless. “Just don’t hit me, the glass, or anything expensive.”

“I try,” Jagr said, as he lined up the shot. “Zdeno teach me a few tricks,” he added, as he wound up his arm for a slapshot. “Fore!” he called out, as the puck flew through the air, right through the doorway… ending in the unmistakable sound of something breaking.

 

There was a pause for a moment.  Then, “Trophy cabinet?” Jagr said.

 

“I don’t want to find out,” said Mario. “Back door.”

 

The two looked at each other for a split second, before they hurried off the ice as quickly as they could. 

 

* * *

 

It had been a couple of days since Jagr had arrived in Pittsburgh, and he was seated at the Lemieux kitchen table, typing an email to Krejci on his laptop, when Mario asked the question.

“What are you doing this full moon?”

All wolves knew when the full moon was approaching - senses were heightened, everything looked and smelt much sharper, and their natural instincts were more likely to be brought to the forefront, even while still in human skin. Jagr remembered Mario being horrified at the fact that he would let his eyes flash and drop fang during faceoffs on full moon nights - his first season in Pittsburgh was a heady combination of wolf instincts and a complete disregard for secrecy.

These days, Jagr, like most older wolves, had a fairly tight rein over his instincts, so the pull of the moon was no longer an issue, although the opportunity to spend time with the pack in wolf skin was not something he could ever turn down.

Jagr had spent the last full moon with the pack, but with the offseason changes and despite the open invitation to return, he couldn’t see himself travelling back to Boston just for one night. Nor could he impose on the Pittsburgh pack - it wouldn’t seem right. He might be staying in the Ferox’s house, but he was still a visitor on pack territory.

“No plans,” he said, looking up. “Maybe I stay here, in the bedroom or maybe backyard. Sure your dogs won’t mind the extra company.” 

Mario looked almost horrified. “No, you’re not,” he said. “You can come with us.”

“But, pack--?”

“Tonight is not for pack,” Mario said firmly. “It’s more of a family gathering, since the kids are on vacation.” 

“And before you ask,” said Nathalie, appearing in the kitchen, “that includes you. You’re our guest, after all.”

 

It wasn’t exactly a comfortable fit in the Lemieux’s car, what with one six foot plus hockey player and three teenage kids crammed into the back seat, but somehow, they made it work.

 

Almost.

 

“Austin, don’t hit your sister,” Nathalie said, without turning around. 

“But I wasn’t, Mom!” Austin protested. “Not deliberately - there’s not enough space.”

 “Is very tight fit,” Jagr agreed. Alexa glared at him while Austin smiled broadly, reaching over everyone’s heads to high-five Jagr.

Stephanie, meanwhile, sighed. “Maybe I should have gone with Lauren, after all.”

“I don’t trust that boy who picked her up,” Mario said. “He smelt suspicious.” 

“You don’t trust any boy around our girls, Mario,” Nathalie said. “She said he was just a classmate, so I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Besides, he’s only giving her a lift to the park, and he’s human. It’s not like the two of them are going to sneak off into the bushes and-”

She was interrupted by a low growl from Mario, at which point she slapped his arm. “Oh, behave,” she said. Mario actually looked a little sheepish in the wing mirror, and Jagr grinned. He’d only really known Nathalie for a few days, and already he could tell that she was another of those betas who would not be subordinate around alphas.

They arrived at Hillman - Mario had told Jagr earlier that they weren’t going to the pack’s usual gathering space in Frick Park - where Lauren was already waiting for them.

“He didn’t stick around?” Jagr overheard Stephanie asking her sister. 

Lauren made a face. “I think Dad scared him off,” she said.

Stephanie giggled, then said something in a low tone that not even wolf hearing could pick up, as Jagr moved away.

 

They filed behind Mario as he headed deeper into the woods, following what appeared to be one of the hiking trails. The scent of spring and new life was very much in the air, but the ground was muddy thanks to the melting snow - Jagr had to reach out and grab Austin a few times, when he almost slipped while climbing over some rocks. Eventually, when they were far enough into the park to avoid detection, they all ducked into some nearby bushes to change.

He met Mario on the way out - and he hadn’t changed much, since the last time Jagr had seen him in his wolf skin - and the two stared at each other again, yellow eyes glowing in the dimming light. A yip from Nathalie off in the distance broke the standoff, as Mario loped away in the direction of her call. After a moment, Jagr flicked his tail and followed.

The girls - Alexa, Stephanie and Lauren - were curled up in a pile near a lake; Lauren and Stephanie taking turns grooming Alexa. Jagr could hear Mario and Nathalie somewhere in the woods to his right.

And then, there was Austin, who was tugging on Jagr’s tail to get his attention. He looked down at the younger wolf, cocking his head to one side in curiosity. Austin pricked his ears, trotting off around the lake until he found a spot that was close to the girls, but hidden from view.

It didn’t take too long to figure out what Austin was trying to do - so when the young wolf launched himself into the air and into the lake, Jagr was not far behind him. They hit the water with a resounding splash, and when Jagr surfaced, he could hear the yelps of displeasure from the three girls as they headed for higher ground, trying to avoid a soaking wet Austin, who scrambled up the bank after them, shaking himself and causing more yelps from the girls as they were sprayed with water.

Of course, all this noise soon drew the attention of Mario and Nathalie, who appeared just as Jagr made his way out of the lake, coat still dripping. He could see Mario taking in the entire scene - the three girls pressed up close to Nathalie, who was giving them all reassuring licks, and Austin, smelling strongly of lake water but looking very pleased with himself. Then, his yellow gaze swung its way over to Jagr.

If he had been in his human skin, Jagr would have shrugged at Mario’s scrutiny. Instead, he trotted over to Mario, dropped his head as if in submission…and shook.

He had roughly a few seconds to enjoy his victory - and the sight of the proud, noble Ferox of Pittsburgh standing there, thoroughly soaked in lake water - before he was tackled to the ground. They tussled, rolling around on the muddy ground, before a sharp bark from Nathalie drew their attention. Jagr first thought she was trying to break up their play-fight before it got too serious, but then he picked up the scent. Rabbit! He and Mario looked at each other for a moment, before scrambling to their feet and hurrying after her.

 

Jagr always thought that one of the reasons that so many wolves gravitated towards hockey, was the similarity between a game and the hunt. On the ice, it was you and your linemates after the puck, or the puck carriers. Out here in the woods, it was almost an eerily similar formation - there was Mario in the middle, with Jagr to his right, and Nathalie to his left as they zeroed in on their prey. The three of them eventually emerged victorious, a rabbit each dangling from their jaws, shared with the eagerly awaiting ‘youngsters.’

They all set off at a slower pace after feeding, after Nathalie had submitted them all to a thorough cleaning - Jagr included. While Austin and the girls scurried on ahead, playfully chasing after birds that were startled by their approach, Jagr was happy to lope beside Nathalie and Mario. He wasn’t sure why they had included him on this occasion, but he was quite content, taking in the scents of the park and the sounds of the wildlife moving around them.

Eventually, though, as the night grew a little colder, it was time to find a place to rest. After some digging, they created a little hollow at the base of an old tree. The kids all piled in first, neatly fitting into one other like little furry puzzle pieces, while Mario and Nathalie curled around them, protecting them from the cold and the wind. Jagr watched them for a moment, before turning away to find his own place to rest. Behind him, Nathalie huffed - and before he knew what was happening, Mario grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, forcing him to the ground.

It was a gesture that Jagr would not tolerate from a nother alpha – it was too much like a demand for submission or a challenge to his authority. He growled at Mario as soon his neck was released, ears pinned back, showing his displeasure. Mario, on the other hand, did not even so much as curl his lip in Jagr’s direction, padding back over to where the others were huddled around the tree. There was, however, a very large gap left between himself and Nathalie, and as Mario settled down, he raised his head to look at Jagr, before sniffing quite pointedly at the empty spot.  

Jagr curled up in between Mario and Nathalie, effectively closing the protective circle around the Lemieux children. Mario affectionately chewed on his ear, and Nathalie wrapped her tail around him, while Austin wriggled a little closer so that he was leaning fully against Jagr’s back. He smelt their packscent all around him - the various Lemieux scents, as well as the overarching scent of the Pittsburgh pack - as well as a strange sense of…well, he wasn’t quite sure what to describe it as. Part contentment, part satisfaction, with maybe a little bit of …home? He let that sink in, listening to the sounds of their heartbeats - and his own - beating almost in synch, as he drifted off into sleep.

 

It was Austin who first picked up on it, the following morning, as they were all squeezed into one booth in a local diner - even though no-one could quite hear him through his mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Nathalie gave an apologetic look to Jagr, who was seated in between her and Mario. “Just like untrained puppies - can’t take them anywhere.” 

“Sorry Mom,” Austin said, taking a swallow of juice. “I just wanted to ask Jagr - does he know that he smells like us, now?” 

Jagr turned to Mario, who nodded. “A little,” he said. “Still smells strongly of the Boston pack, but we’re in there, too.” He smiled. “No Pittsburgh, though.”

“Just as well,” said Jagr, “or will never hear the end of it from Cam and the others.”

That led Austin to pepper Jagr with questions about Neely - which he happily obliged to answer, as well as a few stories about current Bruins such as Bergeron, Lucic and Marchand - and Krejci, who was his unabashed favourite.

Mario joked that Jagr was ‘corrupting his kid’ with Bruins stories, but Jagr thought it was good that Austin wanted to learn more about other players outside the Penguins organisation. In fact, he even had Mario listening when he pulled out a story Bobby told him about Gordie Howe, which led to reminiscing about the infamous ‘pond scene’ commercial.

Jagr was surprised that he’d picked up the Lemieuxs’ scent that quickly, but, he thought to himself, sipping on his coffee and watching the scene that unfolded in front of him - Mario and Nathalie solid presences on either side of him, the four Lemieux children opposite playfully bickering among themselves - it wasn’t such a bad scent to be carrying around with him.

* * *

 

The ball bounced off the garage door, and Austin swore. “How-?” He turned to Jagr. “Are you sure you’ve never played goalie before?”

“Never,” Jagr said, retrieving the tennis ball from behind the rose bushes. “This time,” he said, picking up his stick, “you try slower, be more accurate. Less slapshot like Zdeno Chara, or your mother will be angry if we break things.”

“Amen to that.”

Both spun around, to see Nathalie standing in the open doorway. “You’re lucky your father is away in Newark at the Draft,” she said to Austin, “or he’d be complaining about all the banging going on. Which, by the way - what exactly are you doing?”

“Playing street hockey?” Austin offered.

Nathalie didn’t look too impressed at this, so Jagr decided to step in. “Austin said he wanted to improve his shooting,” he said, “so I suggest we practice.”

“Hmm.” Nathalie looked at the two of them - as Austin slunk up to hide behind Jagr, the coward. “Well, Austin, how about you practice improving your room cleaning skills, instead.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question - nor did Austin expect it to be, as he picked up his stick and headed back inside. “Sorry, Jags,” he said.

“Maybe next time?” Jagr offered. “Here - catch!” he said, tossing the ball in Austin’s direction.

As the front door closed behind him, Jagr looked over at Nathalie. “Do I get room cleaning practice, too?” he asked, giving her an innocent look.

Nathalie laughed. “Honestly, I don’t know which of you is worse,” she said. “No, you don’t - but I could use a hand with the grocery shopping.”

 

Which was how Jagr found himself in a Pittsburgh supermarket. He’d pulled a baseball cap low over his face to avoid recognition - he knew all too well that his face wasn’t exactly all that popular in Pittsburgh, these days - but either his poor attempts at a disguise were working, or there weren’t too many hockey fans in the supermarket that . Probably more of the latter rather than the former.

“You seem to be Austin’s new favourite person,” Nathalie said, as she put several loaves of bread into the trolley. Jagr was instructed to remain on trolley-pushing duties, after being unable to read Nathalie’s handwriting on her shopping list, and coming back with more items than she needed.

“He’s a good kid,” Jagr said. “And he wants to learn, so I help.” 

“Have you ever considered being a coach, when it comes time to hang up the skates?” she asked. “Seems like you’d be good at it.” 

Jagr made a face. “Not considering retiring just yet,” he said. “I still want to play in the NHL for a few years more.” He grinned. “Beat Gordie Howe’s record, maybe.”

Nathalie laughed. “Well, if there’s anyone who could, it’d be you,” she said. The pair continued down the aisles, Nathalie stopping every now and again to toss items in the trolley. “This may seem a little silly,” she said, suddenly, “but I feel like I’ve known you for a lot longer than I have. Probably because Mario used to talk a lot about you.”

“He did?”

She nodded. “He was angry with you when you left Pittsburgh, because of the things you said about the team,” she said. “But he was _really_ furious that time, when you decided to sign with the Flyers.” She looked over at Jagr. “He would have welcomed you back then. I know the two of you don’t want to talk about it, but what exactly happened?” 

“When I first come to Pittsburgh,” Jagr said, “the press, they say that if you mix the letters of my first name, you can spell ‘Mario Jr.’ When the team first explain to me what that mean, I don’t mind, because I admired Mario as a player and as a friend.” He grinned. “Don’t know how his hair not turn grey before now - I was terrible wolf. Didn’t believe in hiding.”

“I know - he’s told stories,” Nathalie said, laughing. “The way he talks, it sounded like you two were inseparable, back then. So how--?” 

“At some point, you want to stop being ‘Mario Jr.’ and be ‘Jaromir.’ Be my own player, in my own right.” He looked over at Nathalie. “Still, when Mario say he wanted to come back from retirement, I was so happy. Maybe we do great things together again, like we did before. Win more Stanley Cups. But,” he said, “was different. I was captain, but everyone expect Mario to take captaincy back. Team was struggling then, and everyone start to make comparisons. Even Mario, a little. Not good for me, not good for Mario, not good for the team.” 

“So, they traded you to Washington,” Nathalie said. “And later, when you came back from the KHL? Why the Flyers, and not some other Eastern team?”

“When I decide to return to the NHL,” Jagr said, “I seriously consider Pittsburgh. But they have Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin now, don’t see where I could fit. Flyers make good offer, management promise me ice time, play on top line with Claude Giroux.” He frowned. “Of course, if I know going to Philadelphia means dealing with Caspar as Ferox, maybe I choose differently.” He looked over at Nathalie. “That answer your question?”

“Yes,” she said. “And it only confirms that the two of you are idiots.”

“Mario still angry at me?” 

“If he was, would he have invited you to stay in Pittsburgh with him?” she asked. “I just wish you two would, oh, I don’t know _, talk about it with each other._ ”

“I don’t talk about feelings well,” Jagr said. “Hockey, yes. Feelings, not so much.”

“But you just---” Nathalie threw her hands in the air. “Hockey players,” she said. “All I know is that now that you and Mario are older and wiser - though that is sometimes debatable - you should be able to work out whatever issues you might have. I don’t care how you two do it - record and exchange tapes, haikus, billboards, sky writing, punch each other silly--” she paused. “Okay, maybe not that last one.”

Jagr grinned. “Maybe fight will do us both good,” he said. “Less expensive than hiring plane for sky writing, too.”

“Boys.” Nathalie shook her head. “Fine, but you can clean up your own mess.” She slung an arm around Jagr. “Now what say the two of us do battle with the housewives in the vegetable section?”

“I try not to hipcheck them too much,” Jagr said, as they headed off.

* * *

 

 

Jagr was the first to notice it, curling its way around the edges of the packscent he now associated with the Lemieux family - but not the Pittsburgh pack; not yet. It was a familiar scent - one that he carried with him in the blanket proudly presented by Bergy and the others just before he left Boston - but one so out of place in Pittsburgh that he was taken aback. Or at least, distracted enough from the events occurring on the screen that Austin could deke past his goalie and score.

“Victory is mine!” Austin dropped his controller and did what Jagr presumed was supposed to be a goal celly, that looked as if it was comprised of a part goal celly, part Gangnam Style around the coffee table.“Take that! Victory is mine, old man, for I drink from the keg of glory.”

“If the next words out of his mouth are about muffins and bagels, I will confiscate all his West Wing DVDs,” Mario said, from Jagr’s other side. It didn’t take long for him to pick up on Jagr’s unease, however, because he frowned suddenly. “Everything alright?”

“You not pick up on that?”

“Pick up on what?” Now it was Mario’s turn to look puzzled. “I don’t sense anything out of the ordinary.”

“Is it Sidney?” Austin stopped mid-celly to look at them. “No, it can’t be - he’s in Russia with _Geno_ ,” he said, making kissy noises.

“Austin,” Mario had his stern Parent Face on. “Quiet.” He turned to Jagr. “Anything I should be worried about?”

Jagr shook his head. “No problem,” he said. “I go check.” He put his controller down. “Make sure he not get chance to score again,” he said to Mario, pointing at Austin as he headed towards the door. 

 

The scent got stronger as he reached the end of the Lemieux driveway - which might have been because of the great big yellow bus parked outside the front gate.

“Nice digs, Jags,” Derek Sanderson said, giving an appreciative whistle before he was cuffed on the back of the head by Bobby.

There had to be at least ten of the Boston pack - mostly Bruins alumni - gathered around the bus, including the two ex-Feroxes in Cam and Bobby. At this rate, Jagr was half expecting Daniel - well tailored suit and tie and all - to appear from around the corner.

“This is….surprise,” he said, finally. “Did not expect to see you here in Pittsburgh.”

Cam shrugged. “We just happened to pass by the neighbourhood.” He gave Jagr a once over. “Good, you don’t smell like the Pittsburgh pack yet.”

“From Boston.” Jagr raised an eyebrow. “Big neighbourhood.”

“To steal a phrase from the esteemed newsman Jerry Dunphy,” said Jack Edwards, from where he was leaning against the bus, “from the desert to the sea, to all of Southern California. And since you can’t come to the mountain…”

“If you’re concerned about any pack repercussions,” Bobby added, “I did ask the Ferox’s permission beforehand for all of us to enter and stay in Pittsburgh territory for a while, and he agreed.” He smiled. “Mario said that it would be a nice surprise for you.”

Derek elbowed Jagr through the gate. “So how’s about it, huh? Feel up to playing a little hockey with us old guys?”

He could almost sense the excitement in the air, and Jagr couldn’t help but smile broadly - they drove all the way here from Boston, to ask him to a pickup game! And Mario apparently knew about this, which probably explained why he didn’t ‘sense anything out of the ordinary’. “How can I say no, after you make all this effort?” he said, laughing. “Let me go get gear first, okay?”

 

Only when he returned to the front gate, he had two Lemieuxs as well as his equipment bag in tow.  

“They were alone in house playing NHL ‘13,” Jagr explained, off Cam and Bobby’s surprised looks. “I think, why play on screen when you can play in real life? So I ask, they agree.” He paused. “Well, Austin agree to come, then we both decide to take Mario with us. No fun in helping to organise surprise for me and not participate in it, yes?” 

Mario accepted the traditional greetings from all the Boston wolves, starting with Bobby – who was the first to approach Mario. “While I gave Mr. Orr  permission to be on my territory,” he said, looking as reluctant as he had been when Jagr first asked him to come, “I didn’t think I would need to be involved any more than that.”

“Well Dad,” said Austin, grinning, “you can always stay home if...Ow!” he broke off as Jagr cuffed him.

“Show respect to father and Ferox,” Jagr said, before glancing over at Mario and Cam – whose greeting to the Pittsburgh Ferox was as frostily polite as a wolf could be without causing an insult. “Will be a problem?”

“It’s just a friendly pickup game,” Bobby said. “We don’t bite.”

“Much,” chipped in Derek.

“Ignore Turk. Most of us do,” said Jagr to Mario. “You want in?”

Mario looked at the big yellow bus and the cluster of Bruins at his front gate, before turning back to Jagr. This time, there was a definite smile on his face. “I always have time to play hockey.”

 

To be fair to Mario, he was a good sport for spending time on a bus full of ex-Bruins players which smelt very strongly of the larger pack. Ray actually was a big help with this - Jagr saw the two of them talking away in what sounded like French, as the likes of Jack and Andy Brickley entertained a wide-eyed Austin with stories about his father in his heyday.

However, as Johnny Bucyk - who told Jagr he had ‘borrowed’ the bus from the Bruins - pulled the bus into the rink parking lot, Mario couldn’t help but frown. “This is the Pens practice arena,” he said.

“It is,” said Cam, ridiculously smug.

“You can’t have booked it,” Mario said. “It’s only available to current players, staff and…”

Whatever else he was going to say, was overridden the moment the door opened - and as usual, the voice preceded the man up the steps.

“Hey, Thunderthighs!” 

“…Pens alumni,” Mario finished, as Mark Recchi was pulled into a spontaneous group hug with the others.

“Neighbourhood includes Dallas, now?” Jagr said.

“Nah,” Recchi said, bounding over. “Kamloops.” He ruffled Jagr’s hair. “How’s it going, kiddo? Bergy says hi, by the way -- and would you look at that?” he said, noticing Mario for the first time. “Super Mario’s in the building? This game should be a doozy.”

“You are officially terrible,” Mario told him, as he followed the rest of the group out, showing his displeasure by holding Recchi’s neck a little rougher than usual when he offered it to Mario.  

Recchi looked positively innocent. “Who, me?” he said. “All I did was book the arena for my good friends.” He slung an arm around Mario. “Relax, big guy. We haven’t done anything ridiculous, like decorate the arena with the spoked B - I promised we’d put it back exactly the way we found it. And besides,” he added, “we’ve played against some of these guys. Haven’t you wondered what it would be like to play _with_ them instead?” 

Derek looked positively gleeful, as they all gathered around him and Johnny on the bench. “We’re doing things a little bit differently,” he said. “Firstly, as you might have noticed, we have no goalies. Cleon and Cheesy couldn’t make it, and we’re not gonna make any one of you stand in the cage.” He grinned. “We might be crazy, but we’re not goalie-crazy. But that’s not to say scoring will be easy, as we have the big guns on the blue line today,” he said, pointing towards Bobby, Ray and Brad Park - as Don Sweeney chirped back: “What am I, Turk - chopped liver?”. 

“Cam and Rex have agreed to be our team captains - don’t worry, you won’t have to wear Penguins jerseys if you play with Rex,” Derek added to much laughter. “And here’s another thing we’ve decided,” he said - and here he looked extremely pleased - “We’re switching up the, ah, ‘popular’ pairs for a game. That means, no Ray and Cam on the same team, and...sorry Jags, the same rule applies to you and your pal Mario.”

 

In the midst of all the chatter that followed, Cam wandered over to Jagr. “You know about this?” Jagr asked him.

Cam shook his head. “It’s Turk,” he said. “Don’t even think Chief knew about it. Still, it could be interesting.” He nudged Jagr. “How about it, Jags? Brick makes a half-decent center, and I don’t mind switching to left wing for a game.” 

Jagr grinned. “Ask stupid question,” he said, slinging an arm around Cam’s shoulders as the two headed in Derek’s direction. “Would love to play with you.”

The look Mario shot Cam as he announced his choice was… odd, Jagr thought. If he didn’t know any better, he might call it jealousy. Of course, with that choice, it meant that Mario was playing with Rex, and Andy Brickley - as the only remaining center - was to play with Cam and Jagr . “I feel like a kid on Christmas!” he told them, grinning broadly.

As the only other left wing, Terry O’Reilly was assigned to Team Recchi, while the remaining positions were assigned by ‘unbiased’ selection - Austin was called in to pull names out of a hat. Don went to Recchi’s team, bookmarked by ‘the old guys’ (as Derek called them) Bobby and Brad, who both went to Cam - who was smiling wider every time the names were announced.

With Johnny acting as referee, ably assisted by Austin, Jack on the bench with a hastily wired up microphone, and Derek to provide ‘moral support and Don Cherry impressions,’ the game, as they say, was on.

 

From the moment the puck hit the ice, it quickly became evident this was no ordinary friendly pick-up game. “Did we wander into Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals by mistake?” Jack said, as Recchi checked his usual co-host into the boards with great gusto. Maybe it was the fact that there were some members on opposite teams that would usually play together, or the fact that the arena they were playing in still smelled faintly of the Pittsburgh pack, but it seemed to Jagr as if everyone – from the two ex-Feroxes on down – had their wolf instincts brought out more strongly and frequently than they would occur in a regular game. Even he found himself struggling to get his eyes and fangs under control at times.

Cam and Mario battled for the puck along the boards, and there were more than a few flashes of gold in their eyes as the two alphas tried to establish dominance. Jagr managed to shake Ray loose just as Cam snatched the puck away from Mario, and with a quick pass, it was his. There was a nagging worry as he headed for the net - no goalie, sure, but could he get it in with the scoring luck he had been having, lately? He took the shot, exhaled, and-

The puck hit the back of the net and Jack made the call: “What a beauty! Look out folks, 68’s got his shooting arm back!” Jagr was immediately sandwiched between an excited Cam and Brick. As Bobby and Brad joined the pile, though, Jagr happened to look over his shoulder, where he caught a glimpse of Mario - whose eyes were still glowing yellow.

Mario had been in fine form the entire game, and Jagr could tell that he was one of those who was playing with a definite ‘edge’. He didn’t realise just how fine an edge, though, until Mario delivered a heavy check on Cam. Not heavy enough to get a penalty, but enough to knock Cam off his feet - which, considering Cam’s size, was not exactly an easy feat to accomplish. 

“You okay?” Jagr asked, as he helped Cam to his feet.  

Cam nodded. “What did your boy Mario have for breakfast this morning?” he said, brushing ice off his hockey pants. “Chex?”

“Not my ‘boy,’” Jagr protested, even as Brad Park skated up to them.

“Keep an eye on Mario, Jags,” he said. “I don’t know why, but he seems to have Cam’s number.”

Jagr nodded grimly. “I notice too,” he said. “Could be wolf instinct talking, but next time he try, will not find it so easy.”

 

Sure enough, the next time Mario lined up for a hit on Cam, he found Jagr standing in the way.

“Enough,” he said. “We play hockey now.”

Mario’s lip curled. “Playing favourites?”

Maybe the atmosphere was affecting him more than he thought, as Jagr found himself baring his fangs. “Cam is my friend,” he said. “Does not deserve to be hit every shift.”

Mario’s eyes flashed yellow, and there was a low growl before he dropped the gloves and threw a punch in Jagr’s direction. Jagr was taken aback, but was able to duck the blow, thanks to his reflexes. Throwing his sticks and gloves on the ice, he managed to grab Mario’s fist to try and stop or slow him down, until they both ended up in a kind of wrestling match, grappling with fists, with each trying to knock down the other.

It didn’t matter what the reason for the fight was, now - this was pure wolf instinct taking over, with two alphas asserting their dominance over the other. As Mario dropped his fangs, zeroing in on Jagr’s throat, Jagr felt himself being pulled away. Looking up to see who was brave - or foolish - enough to get between two alphas, he saw Bobby, eyes flashing as he held him and Mario apart, looking every inch the Ferox he must have been in his prime.

“That’s enough,” he said, firmly. It was a tone that would brook no refusal, and one which made Jagr offer his neck - something that even the current Ferox of Boston was not able to do. Bobby accepted Jagr’s neck, even as he kept a strong hand on Mario - who struggled a little under Bobby’s grip, but it seemed as if most of the fight had gone out of him.

Johnny skated up, alone - Austin was sandwiched between Jack and Derek on the bench, looking wide-eyed in their direction. “Penalty box?” he asked Bobby, who nodded.

“Penalty box.”

 

Being sent to the box - whether in a NHL game, or here, in a ‘friendly’ pick-up game - was never the best experience in a hockey player’s life. Unless, of course, you were someone like Terry - who actually was presented with the penalty box from the old Boston Garden - or Thorty, who joked that he should be paying rent to the NHL by now.

Escorted to the box by Bobby and Johnny, and amidst the chirps and catcalls of their respective teammates, Jagr waited until the door had been closed shut before he spoke.

“Nathalie say we should fight so we can talk properly,” he said, “but I think she not mean literally.”

There was a weak chuckle from Mario, who had his head in his hands at this point.

“Nathalie is very smart,” Jagr continued. “She say we should talk about what happen between us.”

Mario’s head whipped up at that. “What happened?” he echoed. “What happened is you left us. We had a chance to make things right, and then you go and say you were ‘dying alive’ in Pittsburgh. I had no choice but to trade you.” He paused. “And later, you go and sign with the Flyers.” He glared at Jagr. “The fucking Flyers.”

“Team was good. Liked playing with Claude. Pack situation...” Jagr shook his head. “Not so much.” He jabbed a finger in Mario’s direction. “Situation in Pittsburgh not so good, either. We both want to be captain - only press expect you to take ‘C’ back. Keep saying so every time we lose. ‘Jaromir Jagr not worthy to hold Mario Lemieux’s jockstrap, let alone be captain of Penguins.’”

Mario made a face. “They did not say that.”

“Maybe not exact words, but general feeling,” he said. “Too much, and I think maybe I want to make a name for my own, away from Mario.”

“You did,” Mario said, so softly that Jagr only just managed to pick up on it.

“I liked being in Pittsburgh, the first time,” he confessed. “Felt like could be new home. Only other time I feel comfortable in a pack was in Boston.”

“I noticed,” Mario said. “For a guy who’s only been there a few months, you sure made an impression on the pack.”

“Wish I could stay and play with team,” Jagr said. “I know salary cap means some cannot stay, but I hoped maybe they keep me for a while longer.” He looked over at Mario. “Is why you play physical against Cam? Think maybe I like him more than you?”

Mario didn’t respond for a while - he just looked out into the arena, where the game was still continuing. “I don’t know,” he said, finally. “I just…” he shrugged. “Maybe.”

Jagr laughed. “The great Mario Lemieux, lost for words!” He slid closer to Mario on the bench, “Is okay,” he said. “I know you not really mean it when we fight. Maybe wolf instincts take over a little, say two alphas need to fight.” He slung an arm around Mario’s shoulders. “But we are still friends, yes?”

Mario looked startled at the physical contact at first, before offering a tentative smile, leaning into Jagr’s shoulder. “Of course,” he said. “And-” he paused. “I can never get used to the idea of you being close with Boston players, but I’ll try.”

“If you tell me when I first come here, that in future I play for Boston,” Jagr said, “I would have laughed in your face. But they are good people.”

Of course, just as he said this, the penalty box door was opened. “Well?” Recchi stood there, grinning. “Did you two kiss and make up, or what?”

Mario looked at Jagr, raising an eyebrow. “‘Good people.’”

Jagr laughed. “Rex is special,” he said. “Both Penguin and Bruin.”

“Damn straight,” Recchi said. “Now will you two lovebirds get a move on, so we can play? His team,” he said, indicating towards Jagr, “is whipping our collective asses at the moment. Especially the so-called ‘old guys’ on the blue line, who have a goal and an assist apiece.” He shook his head. “If I could be that good at the age of sixty...”

“Rex, I don’t want to think of what terrors you would unleash at the age of sixty,” Mario said, laughing. He turned back to Jagr. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go play some hockey.”

There were no more physical incidents after that - at least, no more than there should be in the normal course of play - and the atmosphere in the place seemed much lighter. Not that play was any looser, but it just seemed like the dangerous ‘edge’ had disappeared. The score ended up being tied, and no-one wanted to head into net for a shootout, so they called it a day. Mario seemed much happier, too - enough that by the end of the game, he was happily chatting away with Terry, who later told Jagr that Mario was ‘an okay guy, for a Penguin.’

They hadn’t intended to stop at the Lemieux house after the game - the original plan was just drop Jagr, Mario and Austin off and head back to Boston, Johnny told them. But when Nathalie appeared at the gate, she took one look at the group gathered, shook her head and smiled. “Ask everyone what they want on their pizza,” she said, to Mario, opening the gate. And that was that.

 

Much later, she and Jagr were seated side by side on the patio steps, pizza slices in hand, and watching the rest of the group enjoy themselves around the pool. “So, I hear you two had a conversation with your fists at the game,” Nathalie said.

Jagr looked sheepish. “A little one,” he said. “But we also talk.”

“And?” Nathalie waved her slice jauntily in Jagr’s direction. “What happened? I want details.” She grinned. “Consider it payment for allowing a bunch of hockey players into the house - and feeding them, no less.”

Jagr held up his hands in mock surrender. “I think we understand each other better,” he said. “We both talk about what happened and why, when I leave Pittsburgh the first time.” He shrugged. “Cannot fix all in one day, but maybe now we are on same page.”

“Well, that’s something,” Nathalie agreed. “Did he happen to mention-” Whatever Nathalie was planning to ask, however, was cut off as Mario appeared around the corner. “My husband, the prize fighter,” she teased. “Mario ‘Mohammad Ali’ Lemieux.”

“Technique needs work,” Jagr said, taking a sip of his beer. “More miss than hit.”

Mario sighed, as the two of them started laughing. “I know I should be worried when Jags said you two had talked,” he said. “What are you plotting over here?”

“Talk about you, of course,” Jagr said. He reached up to grasp Mario’s wrist. “Sit down, relax,” he said. “Bobby promise me no-one will break anything.”

Mario sank down onto the steps, where both Nathalie and Jagr made room between them. “You were right,” he said to Jagr. “They are good people.” He paused. “For Bruins.”

Jagr laughed. “See? I tell you so,” he said. There was a pause, before he cocked his head to one side. “Even Cam?”

“I have my limits,” said Mario. “But it’s a start, right?”

Jagr looked around him - the various ex-Bruins gathered around the pool with Austin happily among them, Mario and Nathalie with him on the steps, and the packscent which permeated through the backyard, which seemed to him to be part Boston, part Lemieux. “Yes,” he said, happily. “A good start.”


	4. Part III.

### 

Jagr knew the moment the Dallas-Boston trade had occurred, to the very second, because his phone started buzzing wildly with messages and emails from pretty much every single member of the Bruins. And while flattered that he was still considered a part of the team, by the time what seemed like the hundredth message came through on his phone, he found himself wishing that maybe they wouldn’t contact him _quite_ so early in the morning. Still, there were some messages that he felt were important enough to respond to - even if it took a gallon of coffee to do so.

He drank his second cup while typing out a lengthy email to Tyler about his own experiences in moving to another city for the very first time, and what information he could give on the players in Dallas and the city itself - which was woefully out of date, given the personnel changes that had taken place since he played for the Stars; but every little piece of information would help, he figured.

He headed downstairs to pour himself another cup of coffee, and afterwards, after sending another email to Patrice - who had asked him about Loui - he heard the noises. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one in the Lemieux household to be up so early in the morning. Curious, Jagr closed his laptop, picked up his cup, and headed outside to see what was going on.

 

He found Austin, Stephanie and Alexa engaged in a rather lively game of ball hockey in the driveway. And by the looks of things, Austin wasn’t doing so well as far as scoring went - if his chirps to the goalie were any indication. “What was that?! I swear, you go all gooey-eyed whenever Steph heads up on a breakaway…” 

They hadn’t noticed him yet, so Jagr was quite happy to sit down on the porch steps with his coffee and watch them play. The goalie was new - tall, lanky and fair-haired; and judging from the overheard conversations, he seemed to be a ‘friend’ of Stephanie’s - though that was questionable because of Austin’s chirps, and the way that Steph blushed - and he was good. NHL Draft-worthy, if he hadn’t been already.

He was startled for a moment as the ball rolled at his feet, but recovered quickly - enough that when Austin came jogging in his direction, he was casually tossing it from hand to hand.

“I’ve got it--oh!” Austin stopped short, clearly surprised. “Hey, Jags,” he said. “You’re up early?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Austin looked concerned at that. “We, ah, didn’t wake you up or anything? Mom and Dad usually sleep like rocks, so we kind of figured it’d be ok.”

“Oh, no! Was other things.” Jagr didn’t elaborate - the news would probably have gone live by now, but he didn’t want to break team confidences - and instead waved a hand in the direction of their setup. “Good game?”

“Ugh, you tell me,” Austin said, making a face. “Steph is channelling Sid, her ‘friend’ Tony was picked in this year’s NHL Draft, but gets all googly-eyed whenever she touches the puck, and Alexa - Miss “I don’t play goalie very well” - is apparently the Patrick Freakin’ Roy of ball hockey.”

“Not good, then,” Jagr said, passing his mug over to Austin.

“The worst,” Austin agreed, gulping down coffee. He looked over the rim at Jagr, his expression visibly brightening. “Say - maybe you could play on my team? It’s girls against boys, and we’re getting our as- butts kicked.”

Jagr almost laughed - the expression on Austin’s face was almost identical to the one his father wore, when he tried to convince Jagr to come and play in the staff game at CONSOL, and…was that only a few months ago? It seemed like he’d been living with the Lemieuxs for longer than that. But just like before, it wasn’t too long before he found himself being towed down the driveway by an eager Lemieux.

 

Stephanie protested to his addition to the game - “he’s an actual NHL player, Austin! That’s cheating” - but she soon calmed down the moment Alexa hopped out of her net, to ‘even the competition.’

“That’s actually a good idea, Lexy,” Austin said, grinning. “Now we can take turns scoring on Steph’s boyfriend.”

“Tony’s not my--” Steph began, before looking over at Tony. “Okay,” she said, lowering her voice. “He is. We are. Dating, that is.”

“Ha!” Austin turned and high-fived Alexa. “I knew it. ‘Just a good friend from Newark,’ my ass.”

Steph blushed prettily as Tony leaned in to kiss her on the cheek; an action which earned her cheers and whistles from the Lemieux peanut gallery - plus Jagr, who couldn’t resist joining in.

“You won’t tell Mom and Dad, will you?” she asked Jagr, concerned.

Jagr frowned. “You don’t intend to keep it a secret forever?”

“No!” Steph shook her head. “It’s just--” she shrugged. “You know how Dad gets. I thought we’d wait a bit before telling them.”

“Okay. Then I won’t say anything to your parents yet.”

Stephanie gave him a broad smile, before reaching out to hug him. “Thank you!” Jagr was startled for a moment, before he returned the hug.

“Well, as touching as this is,” Austin drawled, “I didn’t bring Jags over here to be your personal secret keeper.” He tapped his stick on the ground. “Can we get to it and play some actual hockey now?”

 

It was a light-hearted and fun game - no checking, and Jagr made sure that he gave Stephanie some opportunities to score, just as much as he kept feeding Austin the puck. There was no shortage of chirping, though, and despite Austin’s constant taunts, he could tell that Tony had the makings of a good goalie.

“You meet him in Newark,” he said to Stephanie, as they battled for the ball. “At NHL Draft, maybe?”

“No, before that,” she said. Stephanie was a pretty good hockey player, herself, and she was giving as good as she got when it came to trying to hold on to the ball. “But he was drafted then!”

“Oh?” Jagr won the battle, sending the ball up the driveway to a waiting Austin, who hurried towards Tony’s net. “Which team?”

Whatever response she was going to make was interrupted as Austin lined up for a shot. “Stop him, Tony!” Stephanie yelled, as she headed up the driveway towards the net, Jagr close behind.

Wearing a look of intense concentration not unlike that of his father, Austin took the shot. The ball sailed into the air…where Tony knocked it out of the air with a quick flash of his glove. Austin swore - in Czech, no less! - before Jagr’s stick was on the ball as it rebounded out of the net, and quickly tapped it back in again. And this time, it stayed in.

Austin threw his arms around Jagr the second the ball went in, a big smile on his face. “That was _awesome_.”

“You did most of the work,” Jagr said, as he playfully ruffled Austin’s hair. “I just clean up a little.”

Their celebrating was cut short a moment later, however, as Alexa came running up. “Alert, alert!” she said. “The lights are on in the house. I repeat, the lights are on in the house.”

Then it was Steph’s turn to swear, as she grabbed Tony by the arm, practically dragging the poor boy up the driveway. “Quick, into the poolhouse!” They hadn’t gotten very far, before they all picked up on the sound of the front door handle. “Shit!” The two looked at each other for a moment, before Tony quickly jumped into the nearby bushes.

Alexa slipped into position in the net, just as the door opened, revealing a very amused looking Mario - coffee in hand and still in his dressing gown - standing in the doorway. “What’s the score?” he asked.

“Uh--” They all exchanged glances. “We sort of lost count,” Austin said, “so we called it a draw.” He nudged Jagr in the ribs. “Jags got the last goal, though!”

“I helped,” Jagr insisted. “He shoot at net first, then T--iny,” he stopped himself from saying ‘Tony’ just in time, as Alexa jumped in and protested that she was _petite_ , thankyouvery much, “stop the puck from going in. I collect, tap in, then we score.” He slung an arm around Austin’s shoulders. “He played well, like his father.”

As Austin turned bright red and stammered out his thanks, an odd expression appeared on Mario’s face. “A good assist then,” he said, quietly. Then, “If you’re done out here, then come inside. Your mother’s making waffles.”

That got everyone’s attention, and the three ‘youngsters’ headed inside - in a fashion that reminded Jagr somewhat of a swarm of hungry locusts - leaving only himself and Mario standing in the driveway. “You go inside,” he told Mario. “I can pack up the net. Should not take too long.”

“I’ll make sure we save you something,” Mario said. There was an odd expression on his face again, as he reached over to squeeze Jagr’s shoulder. His hand brushed against the left side of Jagr’s neck as he pulled away, the feeling of which made Jagr visibly shiver. Mario didn’t seem to notice, as he was already halfway into the house by then, closing the door behind him.

 

Waving it off as a possible accident, Jagr headed down the driveway to the bushes where Stephanie’s erstwhile suitor was currently hiding out. Surprisingly, he was still there.

“Okay?” Jagr asked, offering a hand to pull the young man to his feet. “Nothing hurt, I hope.”

“Only my pride,” Tony quipped, brushing leaves off his shirt. “But oh boy, it was worth it.” His face took on a look which Jagr could only describe as ‘completely smitten.’ “She’s really something, isn’t she?”

“Stephanie is a good girl,” Jagr said. “Will be many people not happy if you break her heart.”

He must have sounded threatening - it wasn’t his place to threaten, but he was very fond of Stephanie - because Tony looked quite serious. “I promise,” he said.

“Good.” Jagr clapped him on the shoulder. “You staying nearby?”

“At a friend’s place, a couple of minutes away.”

“Then you help me clean up, and I drive you back when we finish.” The two worked quickly and efficiently on dismantling the net, because neither of them wanted to have a situation where Mario popped outside again, to see the ‘stowaway’ in the flesh. As they were putting the last piece of equipment away in the garage, Tony turned to Jagr. “So, you and Mr. Lemieux…” he began.

“Good friends,” Jagr said. “Only staying here until I get my next NHL contract.” Petr had already contacted him with a few offers - Montreal was interested, again - but he was a little reluctant to look at them just yet. Not because he wasn’t interested in playing in the NHL next season, but it only hammered home the point that he would have to leave the Lemieuxs, and he wasn’t quite ready to address that yet.

“Oh.” Tony looked genuinely confused at that. “But I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“Nothing.” Tony shrugged. “I mean, with the…” he reached up to rub the left side of his neck.

“That?” Jagr chuckled. “Was nothing. Probably mistake.”

 Tony looked at him strangely. “Some mistake,” he said. “I mean, I joke about how my dad has weird ideas about monogamy sometimes, but even he knows that you don’t touch the heart side by ‘accident.’”

This was uncomfortably in line with what Jagr was thinking, so he shot back at Tony with a comment about how he hoped there was no touching of the heart side of any neck between Tony and Stephanie just yet, and the subject was dropped.

 

* * *

 

Despite all that, the idea still lingered. In fact, he was still thinking about it as he walked into the house later to much chirping from various members of the family.

“Hey, what happened to you?” Austin said. “Did you get lost in Dad’s garage, or what?”

“No - but I know how hockey players eat. I think maybe by the time I come inside, there would be nothing left,” he said. “So, I go to Dunkin.” It wasn’t entirely false, as he’d stopped off after dropping Tony at his friends’ house.

“You can take the boy out of Boston….” Mario said, laughing.

Jagr shrugged. “Why not? They’re very good for breakfast.” He held up a box emblazoned with the familiar Dunkin’ logo. “So, I take it you don’t want?”

“Hey, hey, who said anything like that!” said Austin, who immediately came over. He sniffed at the box for a moment, before looking up at Jagr, hopefully. “Donuts?”

“Many different kinds.” He held out the box to Austin, expecting him to take it, but was surprised when Austin grabbed his arm instead. 

“C’mon, then,” Austin said, pulling Jagr in the direction of the table. “We ate the waffles, but Mom or Dad can still make you coffee. Right?”

“I’m sure we can whip up a little something,” Nathalie said, a very amused look on her face.

 

For a while afterwards, all was quiet - apart from the sound of munching - as Jagr settled down with a donut and a cup of coffee. He and Mario ‘rescued’ a pile of donuts from the box, and Austin was already making faces at his parents playfully feeding each other from the pile. Jagr winked at Austin and started making faces, too - at least, until Mario stuffed half a jelly donut into his mouth.

Amidst the laughter that followed, Jagr felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a message from Patrice, thanking him for the information on Loui he’d sent earlier. He fired off a quick message as he chewed - while not as nice as the ones in Boston, they were still too good to waste - and when he put his phone away, he looked up to see six faces looking back at him.

“Did I break unspoken Lemieux rule?” he asked. “No phones at table, maybe?”

Austin and Alexa exchanged looks and whispers.

“Was that Seguin?” Alexa asked, finally.

“No, Patrice,” he said, frowning a little. “Trade on news already?”

Austin nodded, as Mario looked interested. “Trade?” he asked.

“Keep up, Dad,” Alexa said, shaking her head. “Tyler Seguin was just traded to the Stars for Loui Eriksson.”

“Also Rich Peverley and Ryan Button,” Jagr added. “Joe Morrow, Matt Fraser and Reilly Smith from the Stars.”

“Big trade,” Mario commented. “Joe’s a good kid; he should like it in Boston. And Loui would be a great fit on Bergeron’s right wing. As for Seguin…” he looked over at Jagr. “Must have been something big, to trade a promising kid like that.”

“Still unclear,” Jagr said. “Have not spoken to Cam yet, but Tyler seemed very upset in his last message.”

“Hey, Jags,” Austin said, grinning, “Maybe you should give Seguin’s number to Lexy, she…ow!” he broke off, after receiving a quick dig in the ribs.

Jagr laughed. “Not you, too,” he said, as Alexa blushed. “No, I don’t think so. Segs is good kid, but your father would kill me if I gave you his number.”

“Damn straight,” said Mario. He wagged a finger in Alexa’s direction. “And here I thought we raised you to have better taste than that, kiddo.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nathalie said. “There’s just something about a man with tattoos…I mean, look at Andrew Ference. Now there’s a good looking man.”

“I have a tattoo, don’t I?” Mario said - with an expression on his face that could almost be described as a pout.

“Stanley Cup tattoos don’t count, dear.”

“Oh?” Mario leaned in, lowering his voice. “Want to refresh your memory?”

“Dad!” Both Austin and Alexa wore shocked looks on their faces. “Not at the table!”

“Simmer down, kids,” Mario said, laughing. “I’m not intending to flash anyone. Besides, compared to guys like Ference and Seguin, mine is pretty tame.” He looked over at Jagr. “I’m surprised you agreed to get one, considering how scared you were that first time. 

“Did not understand what was going on,” Jagr said. “Trots would have made me, but Mario stop him. Had artist add first win to design when we win a second time, though.”

As Austin badgered his dad and Jagr for details, Nathalie spoke up. “You’re quiet, Steph,” she said.

Stephanie _had_ been quiet, compared to her other siblings, tapping away at her phone. Tony had promised Jagr that he would let Stephanie know that he had arrived home okay, so Jagr assumed that Tony would be the recipient of most of those text messages.

“Probably working out how to ask the guy who was hiding in our hedge earlier over,” Mario said. “Is that right, Steph?”

To say Stephanie was shocked might have been an understatement. “How…?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle,” he said. “And Jags here doesn’t usually go on doughnut runs for no reason - or take forever to pack a net away.”

Austin practically cackled at this - “Busted!”- but Jagr remained calm, with perhaps only a hint of pink in his cheeks.

“Tony seems like a good boy,” he said finally, looking over at Mario and Nathalie. “Would do no harm to invite to dinner.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Nathalie said. She nudged her husband, who still had an odd look on his face. “Mario?”

“If that’s what you want, Steph,” he said, “then I guess we’ll see your boy - Tony, is it? - at dinner tonight.”

Steph’s face lit up, and she hurried over to hug him. “Thanks, Dad!”

“Don’t thank me,” said Mario, “thank Jagr. He did all the vetting.”

Steph did give him a very broad smile - and a mouthed ‘Thanks’ - just as Austin piped up. “Nah,” he said, “he’s already had one Steph Special today. Which I guess was kinda cancelled by Dad busting us.” He looked over. “We were really that loud?”

“Alexa’s warning gave the game away,” said Nathalie. “Especially when issued at full volume, right under our bedroom window.”

This last comment earned the littlest Lemieux plenty of friendly slaps and elbowing from siblings - at least, until everyone’s heads spun around, almost in unison. All except for Jagr, who was just about to ask what was going on, before Austin practically jumped out of his chair in his haste to head for the front door. “Hey, Sid and Geno are back!”

 

* * *

 

Shortly afterwards, Sidney Crosby appeared in the kitchen, towed along by an enthusiastic Austin, who was not letting Crosby get a word in edgewise. Jagr took pity on him, grabbing Austin by the scruff of his neck - much like if they were in wolf skin - and pulling him away from Crosby.

“Don’t overwhelm,” he said.

Austin made a face at Jagr but did as he was told - as Crosby shot him a very odd look. He remained where he was, however, standing almost motionless in the hallway. Jagr was reminded of Mario’s dogs, who would stand almost in that very same spot, ears pricked and tail pointed behind them, just before their owner returned. In fact, he was certain that if Crosby was in his wolf skin, he would be doing just that.

Stephanie - who had followed Austin out at a more sedate pace - was next in, talking with a blonde girl around Austin’s age, who was introduced to Jagr as Taylor, who had apparently decided to pay a surprise visit during her summer holidays. “Sister to the pylon here,” she said, giving Crosby a friendly shove, after she had formally greeted Jagr. “Don’t worry, big bro, he’s coming.”

‘He’ turned out to be Evgeni Malkin. “Had to lock car,” he said. Seeing Crosby standing in the hallway, he smiled softly, reaching out with one hand to touch the left side of Crosby’s neck. “Sid wait for me?”

Crosby nodded, before leaning into Malkin’s touch, his own hand reaching out to touch the heart side of Malkin’s neck. Jagr watched, fascinated - since when had these two been a pair? - as Taylor groaned.

“Ugh,” she said, shaking her head. “See what I’ve had to put up with all summer long, Steph?”

Stephanie laughed. “And here I thought you were kidding,” she said. “Hey, you two! Get a room! Some of us are trying to eat here.”

Crosby visibly turned red as he pulled away, while Malkin merely grinned. “Now I know I home,” he said, before nudging Crosby in Mario’s direction. “Go, greet Ferox,” he said. “I right behind you.”

Crosby and Malkin submitted themselves to Mario’s touch, as did Taylor, as Nathalie inquired whether they had been back in Pittsburgh long.

“Flew in this morning,” Malkin said. “Taylor, too. Wanted to see Ferox first. Only polite.” He nudged Crosby, holding up a beautifully wrapped package. “Give gift now.”

Crosby dutifully took the package and handed it over to Mario. “It’s vodka,” he said.

Malkin snorted. “Not just vodka,” he said. “Very special kind.”

“Must be - Geno and Ovechkin and what seemed like all the Russian wolves in the NHL spent a whole day looking for it,” said Crosby. “I hope it’s okay, because…” He shrugged. “You know. Ovie.” As if that explained everything - which, knowing Ovechkin as Jagr did, probably might.

“Sasha is good friend,” Malkin scolded. “And he not want to poison Mario - is big fan.” He turned to Mario. “Vodka made by Khudobin family. Only sold to Russian wolves and kin, has flakes of real silver inside, and colloidal silver as special ingredient.” He grinned. “Go straight to Sid’s head.”

“It was strong!” Crosby protested, as Taylor, Stephanie and Austin started chirping him about being a lightweight.

Mario laughed. “Then I’ll make sure to keep it for a special occasion,” he said. “Thank Ovechkin and the others for me, Geno, will you? That was very kind of them.”

Nathalie immediately appeared by his side to take the package off his hands. “I’ll find somewhere to keep this, where our nosy children can’t find it,” she murmured in his ear, before straightening up. “You’ll stay for breakfast?” she asked Crosby and Malkin. “I can whip up a few more waffles, and Jags brought donuts.”

Crosby’s gaze swung back to Jagr. “And what are you doing here, exactly?” It wasn’t polite, but his reaction was understandable in wolf terms - he was the Pittsburgh Dire, and Jagr was a strange alpha not only on pack territory, but firmly ensconced in his Ferox’s house.

Not that Jagr was quite so easily intimidated. Faced with Crosby’s glare, he shrugged. “Visiting.” He didn’t offer much more than that, and frankly, he wasn’t even sure how to explain the whole arrangement himself.

Crosby’s head turned in the direction of the stairs, and Jagr knew exactly what he was thinking. After all, the guest room still carried Crosby’s scent, along with a large pile of his belongings.

“I haven’t moved anything,” he told Crosby. “Nathalie give me fresh sheets, too.”

If the look of distaste on his face was any indication, Crosby wasn’t exactly convinced by Jagr’s explanation. In fact, he was starting to move towards the stairs, when Nathalie grabbed Jagr by the arm.

“Waffles!” she announced. “You two are staying for breakfast,” she told Crosby, in a tone that would brook no disagreement. “Mario will make you coffee - won’t you, dear? - and Jags has very kindly volunteered to help me in the kitchen.”

 

As expected, there was plenty of chirping from Austin about making him wear a frilly apron - but as Jagr knew by now, beta or not, no-one could say no to Nathalie Lemieux. He and Mario merely exchanged amused glances as they went about their assigned tasks, while Nathalie seated Crosby and Malkin at the table.

Jagr’s waffle making skills were pronounced ‘passable’ by Austin, as somehow, he found room for another helping before heading upstairs. Stephanie and Taylor disappeared upstairs shortly afterwards, too - but not before taking the remaining donuts with them.

While Malkin was happy to tell Nathalie and Mario stories about his recent trip back to Russia, Crosby smothered his waffles in peanut butter as he glared at Jagr across the table. The sight of Crosby wielding a butter knife as he stared at Jagr was more than a little unnerving, and he found himself leaving the table more than once under the pretext of pouring himself another cup of coffee. 

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. “Is my coffee that good?” Mario asked, placing a hand on Jagr’s arm as he returned. Across the table, Crosby’s eyes narrowed, and Jagr could have sworn they flashed yellow for a moment.

Jagr took a large gulp of the coffee - black, no sugar - letting the bitter taste and scent distract him for a moment, before looking over at Mario. “Maybe if hockey business doesn’t work out, you can open cafe here in Pittsburgh.”

“Just as long as you make the waffles,” said Nathalie, grinning.

“No, no, you are the waffle master,” he said. “I only good enough to not burn them.”

“He makes a very strong garlic soup, though,” Mario said.

Jagr looked surprised. “You remember my garlic soup?” One of the first ‘team building’ activities he took part in, shortly after he arrived in Pittsburgh, was to cook a meal of traditional Czech dishes for the rest of the team. There were several panicked calls to his mother, trying to find the best dishes that would suit a group of very hungry hockey players that would also be easy to cook.

“Only because Trots made a comment about how a bowlful of the stuff would knock out a vampire,” Mario said.

“I remember,” Jagr said. “Trots run around wrapped in tablecloth, with bad accent, then Rex pretend to stab him with butter knife.” He chuckled. “Trots very bad actor.”

Mario laughed out loud at that; a big, hearty laugh that made Crosby and Malkin look up in surprise. “That death scene! Nearly took down the entire table with him in his, uh, enthusiasm.”

“Was good idea,” said Jagr. “Make rookie feel comfortable in America and with team, by eating food from home.” He grinned. “Only I think rest of team not prepared for Czech cooking.”

“I did like those dumplings you made for dessert, though,” Mario said. “In fact, you should make some for us some time.”

“How about tonight?” Nathalie said. “I’d be happy to let you take charge of dessert - just as long as there’s no bread knife duels in my kitchen.”

“No bread knife duels, promise,” Jagr said. “And no bad acting. Just good cooking.” He looked over at Nathalie. “I will make _ovocné knedlíky_. Is sweet dumplings with fruit inside. Usually serve with cottage cheese, but maybe I make some sauce to go with.”

“Sounds delicious,” Nathalie said. “Who knew you were such a good cook, Jags?”

“I live alone for too long,” he said. “Have to know how to cook, unless you have bottomless pocket of money to eat out all the time.” He winked at Nathalie. “When I first live with Mario, he is a very bad cook.”

“Still is,” she said. “Why do you think I only allow him to make coffee or oatmeal?” She giggled. “Even then, I’m worried that he might burn the milk.”

Mario groaned. “I knew I should never have introduced you two,” he said, shaking his head. “Terrible.” He turned to Crosby and Malkin. “You are welcome to come to dinner, tonight,” he said. “Save me from those two, please?”

Jagr was certain that Crosby curled his lip in his direction - which earned him a not-too-subtle elbowing from Malkin. “Would be happy to,” Malkin said. “As long as we allowed to bring a dish as well.”

“How about a soup?” said Nathalie. “Just as long as it doesn’t have too much garlic,” she added, nudging Jagr.

Malkin laughed. “No garlic,” he said. “Can make _schci_ \- cabbage soup. Traditional Russian dish, but even Sid eat and like.”

“It’s surprisingly good,” said Crosby, shrugging. He tugged at Malkin’s sleeve. “Can we go, now?”

Malkin scoffed. “So impatient,” he said, but he reached over to squeeze Crosby’s arm. “Need rest?” he asked. “Then we go.”

“Oh, we won’t keep you any longer,” Mario said. “You must be tired after that flight. Both of you head home, and we’ll see you tonight.”

After collecting Taylor - who was also included in the dinner invitation - from upstairs, they left; Crosby all but strong-arming Malkin and Taylor out the door with him.

 

Jagr watched their car pull out of the driveway, before turning to Mario. “Malkin and Crosby. They are together?”

Mario nodded. “Marked, too. Both of them.”

“Is not strange?” he asked. “Unusual for two alphas to be a marked pair.”

“Maybe,” Mario said, “but they seem to make it work. And it doesn’t affect them as hockey players. In fact,” he added, “it seems to make them more in tune with each other, when they’re on the ice.”

“I think Geno is probably the only wolf that could handle Sid full time,” Nathalie added. “And the way Geno tells it, relationships between alphas are common in Russia.”

“Hmm.” Jagr frowned.

“You have a problem with that?” Mario said sharply. “Because if you do….”

Jagr held up his hands. “No!” he said. “Is unheard of in Czech Republic, but they seem happy. Cannot judge.”

“Good.” Nathalie sounded satisfied, as if he’d passed some kind of test.

“You really want me to make _ovocné knedlíky_ tonight?” he asked. “Because if dinner is a family occasion, I can…”

“Absolutely not,” Nathalie said. “As long as you’re a guest in this house, you’re included in our plans. Clear?”

He nodded. “Crystal.”

She slung an arm around his shoulders. “Now, you’d better come with me into the pantry and show me what you need for the dish and…” As they headed off, Jagr turned back for a moment - only to see Mario, still seated at the table and with the same thoughtful expression on his face that he had earlier, watching them leave.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Nathalie had most of the ingredients in her - very extensive - pantry that he needed, so an hour or so before the dinner started, Jagr begged the use of the kitchen to start preparing them. The recipe was one of the few that he could make from scratch, and it gave him such strong memories of his boyhood, watching his mother prepare them while he and the younger pack members tried to sneak some off the kitchen counter when she wasn’t looking.

 

He had a nice pile on a baking tray already, when he sensed Nathalie’s heartbeat right outside the kitchen. Her voice soon followed, as well as the scent of another - Malkin.

“Just put that in the fridge,” Nathalie said, stepping inside, “and we can heat it up just before we eat. Or will it be okay if we leave it on the counter?”

Malkin chuckled. “Will not go bad if left on table,” he said, “but will put in fridge. Not take long to heat up in microwave.”

“Sure.” Jagr’s back was facing them the whole time, but he picked up on Nathalie’s scent as she moved behind him. “Looking good, Jags,” she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Can’t wait to eat them.” Her fingers brushed against the left side of Jagr’s neck as she pulled away - a move that made him shiver and half lean into her touch before he remembered where he was.

Nathalie didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary as she left the kitchen, but Jagr remained at the counter, dumplings forgotten for the moment as he rubbed the spot on his neck where her fingers had been.

 

“You smell like Lemieux.”

Jagr spun around at the sound of the voice, eyes flashing and fists raised, before he remembered. Malkin. He shifted his stance to something a little more friendly, dropping his hands and half-leaning against the counter. “Sorry?”

“Your scent,” Malkin said. “Can still smell Boston,” and here he made a face, “but also Mario, Nathalie, and children.”

Jagr shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant. “Been staying here for a while,” he said. “Crosby here?”

“Sid go see Mario.”

“In the study, then.” Jagr turned back to his dumplings, rolling out another sheet of dough. As he was slicing the sheet into portions, Malkin spoke up again.

“Sense Mario’s heartbeat,” he said. “Nathalie, too?”

Jagr picked up a strawberry, enveloping it in one of the soft dough portions. “Nathalie since I come here,” he said, “Mario from…before.” He turned to look at Malkin. “Why the questions?”

Malkin frowned. “Sid ask,” he said. “Want to know why you here. And I see Nathalie touch heart side, I think maybe…”

The idea was so strange, Jagr almost laughed. “Is nothing,” he said. “Just accident.”

There was a huff from Malkin, but the other alpha did not move. “Can help?” he asked.

Jagr nodded, turning slightly to show Malkin how to wrap the pieces of fruit in the dough and roll them into balls. “Is easy,” he told him. “First thing I was allowed to make in the kitchen.” He kept an eye on Malkin, even as he continued working - but the other seemed to be doing just fine.

“Very similar to pelmeni, only sweet,” Malkin said. “First dish I allowed to help with, too.” He chuckled. “My mother catch me and my brother trying to take before dinner, so she catch me by ears, drag to stove. Tell me that if I enjoy eating pelmeni so much, maybe I should learn to make.”

“And you still eat it?” Jagr said. “Would put me off forever.”

“Yes - but now I know how to make, instead of taking from table,” Malkin said with a grin. “Much easier, and can teach Sid how to make, too.” He leaned in. “He not bad, for a Canadian.”

Jagr chuckled, nudging Malkin. “High praise, coming from a Russian.”

Malkin snorted, giving Jagr a friendly shove, before freezing and turning around. “Speak of Canadian, and they appear,” he said.

The warmth in his voice was evident, and the smell was familiar, so Jagr turned around too - and sure enough, there was Crosby standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, and a definite frown on his face.

“Nathalie said you’d be in the kitchen,” he said. “Are you finished?”

Malkin looked over at Jagr. “If need help….”

Jagr shook his head. “No, can take it from here,” he said. “Go on, enjoy yourself.” He clapped Malkin on the shoulder, ignoring Crosby’s very audible wince - and glare in Jagr’s direction - as he hustled Malkin out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was very pleasant - a lively affair, with good food and good conversation.

 

Stephanie and Taylor - with occasional input from Austin - talked nonstop; at which Mario commented that at least with Taylor being here in person, he wouldn’t need to worry about his phone bills going through the roof this summer. Stephanie’s ‘boy’ Tony was well-mannered and polite, and Malkin was incredibly hard to dislike - after jokingly apologising for stealing the puck from him during the Playoffs, they got on just fine, to the point that Jagr was calling him ‘Geno’ by the time they had finished the cabbage soup - which was surprisingly excellent.

 

In fact, there were only two things that made the dinner slightly uncomfortable, as far as Jagr was concerned. Perhaps it was the comments that had been made throughout the day that had been preying on his mind, but Jagr found himself watching Nathalie and Mario the whole time - a task that was made easier since he was seated in between them. There was nothing specific that he could name, just brushes and touches here and there - Nathalie brushing against him quite closely as she handed him the soup; Mario half-leaning on him as he tried to explain something to Geno.

 

And then there was Crosby, who glared at Jagr for what seemed like the entire dinner. At one point, as Mario threw his arm around Jagr and laughed at a comment he made, describing the Bruins pickup game and the infamous fight to Geno, Jagr distinctly saw Crosby’s eyes flash yellow, until Geno reached over to squeeze his hand as he asked Mario a question. The conversation was redirected, Mario dropped his arm, and Crosby’s eyes returned to normal - though he still continued to give Jagr unpleasant looks.

 

It was a relief when Jagr excused himself from the table to finish his dumpling dish - the kitchen was quiet, and the preparation of a familiar dish helped to chase away a little of the uncomfortableness he felt in the dining room. He was scooping the dumplings out of the boiling water and into the waiting bowls, when he sensed someone enter the kitchen. Catching a brief scent of Geno, he smiled.

“It’s alright, Geno - I can manage,” he said, slowly turning around. “Go see to your Canadian, he-” Only to find that when he did turn around, it was not Geno, but his Canadian. 

Crosby stepped forward into Jagr’s space, eyes flashing - a combination which set Jagr’s wolf senses immediately on edge. Whatever this was, Crosby didn’t come into the kitchen to be helpful.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” Crosby said, “but whatever it is, Stay. Away. From. Mario.” The last few words were emphasised with a curl of his lip, teeth showing.

Jagr let his own eyes flash briefly - not a challenge; not to the Dire in the Ferox’s own house, but to show that he was not affected by Crosby’s show of authority. “Mario is my friend,” he said.

Crosby’s lip curled again, showing more teeth. “And Nathalie?”

“Also my friend.” Jagr looked Crosby in the eye, curling his own lip. “You have problem with this?”

“Only if it affects their marriage,” Crosby said. There was a hint of a growl on his last word, and his eyes were completely wolf-like. “Just…Stay. Away.”

All hint of politeness gone, Jagr stepped firmly into Crosby’s space, letting his own eyes flash. Crosby growled, and looked like he was ready to drop fang right there and then, when a familiar scent filled the kitchen. Nathalie.

“Is everything alright back here?”

Her voice seemed to diffuse the tension in the kitchen - Crosby took a step back, eyes returning to normal as he turned to face Nathalie. “It’s okay,” he said, heading for the door. “Had a craving for peanut butter.”

Nathalie laughed, but there was something in her body language which suggested to Jagr that she didn’t quite buy Crosby’s explanation. “You and your peanut butter, Sid.” She turned to Jagr. “Can you put that on your dumplings, Jags?”

“Not these ones,” he said. “Would not taste nice with topping, but maybe filling?”

“Worth a try, for next time,” she said, before giving Crosby a friendly shove. “Go on, Sid,” she said. “Geno’s pining for you already.”

As Nathalie busied herself with Crosby, Jagr turned his attention back to the dumplings, which thankfully hadn’t gone cold while he and Crosby were involved with… whatever that was.

He’d decided on the more traditional topping for these dumplings - a little sprinkling of Vermont-made quark (the closest equivalent to tvaroh or curd cheese that he could find in America) with some cinnamon and sugar. He was sprinkling the quark on the finished dumplings, when he sensed Nathalie’s heartbeat right behind him.

“That smells delicious,” she said. “Can I help?”

Jagr nodded. With Crosby out of the room, the atmosphere seemed much friendlier - or perhaps it was because he felt comfortable around Nathalie. “How is your cinnamon sprinkling skills?” he asked.

Nathalie smiled. “Excellent,” she said, moving in next to him as the two set to work.

 

* * *

 

The dessert turned out to be a great favourite with everyone - Jagr caught Austin trying to ‘acquire’ some from Tony’s bowl, so he spooned a few from his own into Austin’s. Crosby still kept glaring at Jagr, but with a little less intensity than before. Jagr suspected Geno had something to do with this, as he kept brushing his fingers over Crosby’s arm - or caught him off-guard by spooning dumplings into his mouth; an action which had Austin making mock gagging noises before Jagr shot him a glare of his own, threatening to take the dumplings back.

  
All in all, it was a good night. As Crosby and Geno were taking their leave, and Crosby was occupied with Mario, Jagr took the opportunity to pull Geno aside.

“Crosby,” he said. “Is he…”

Geno looked a little apologetic. “Very protective of Mario and Nathalie,” he said. “Treat like second parents, you understand? Perhaps more like real parents now, since…” he reached up to rub the left side of his neck, before meeting Jagr’s eyes. “He think Mario like you a lot. More than just friends. 

Jagr laughed. “Mario is married. To Nathalie. Pair are inseparable.”

“I know,” Geno said. “But I watch, too. And I think maybe, this time, Sid not crazy about what he see.” Crosby rounded the corner, eyes narrowed as he looked at Jagr, and Geno sighed, reaching out to squeeze Jagr’s shoulder. “Be careful, okay?” he said. “I only just forgive you for stealing puck in overtime. Would hate to waste all that work.”


	5. Part IV.

### 

The conversation - and warning? - was odd, but the words kept swirling around in Jagr’s head, as he helped Mario and Nathalie clean up after dinner. There was nothing out of the ordinary that would indicate Mario’s interest was anything but friendly. Sure, there was a lot of brushing up against one another when they were outside clearing out the rubbish, but that could be explained by the fact that they were working together in close spaces, and Mario certainly didn’t say anything - unless you take multiple apologies as an attempt to flirt. Then, just as they were about to head back inside the house, a raccoon appeared and started poking around in their rubbish, and all thoughts of ‘flirting’ flew out of Jagr’s head. He turned to Mario, a grin on his face, only to see Mario wearing the same expression.

“Too much?” Jagr asked, indicating the raccoon.

Mario shook his head. “Nah,” he said, nudging Jagr as he stepped out of his shoes. “Now c‘mon. Let’s get rid of our little thief.”   

 

 

Nathalie was sitting on the sofa as they came in through the kitchen, laughing. She took one look at them - and their dishevelled appearance - and raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realise emptying the rubbish was so much fun.” 

“Raccoons,” said Mario, trying not to laugh.

Jagr grinned. “Ran so fast when big ‘dog’ suddenly appear out of nowhere.”

Nathalie sighed. “Like a pair of overgrown children, I swear,” she said - but she sounded fond, all the same. ”Wash up and come over here, you two. I thought maybe we could open that ‘special’ bottle of vodka Geno brought.”

“Good night, then?” Jagr asked.

“Those dumplings of yours were a big hit, our children were reasonably well behaved, and Stephanie has decent taste in boys.” Nathalie smiled. “So I’d say that all things considered, yes it was.”

“Don’t forget Sid and Geno,” Mario said, as he settled down on the couch next to Nathalie and started pouring the vodka. “You know, I had some reservations when I heard they marked each other, but they seem to be doing well as a pair.”

“Geno is good for Sid,” Nathalie said. “I mean, he’s probably the only wolf that Sid will let close enough into his personal space to take his mark.” She looked up at Jagr, who was leaning in the doorway, and patted the couch. “Well, don’t just stand there.”

Jagr frowned. “If you want time together, I can…”

Nathalie and Mario exchanged glances. “I took out three glasses,” Mario said. “At least have one drink with us before you head upstairs.”

Jagr nodded. “One drink,” he said, crossing over to the couch, where Mario and Nathalie immediately made space between them.

  
The vodka was very well made, and there was a definite taste and sensation of colloidal silver in the back of his throat as he sipped at it. Even for a wolf, Jagr was usually good at holding his liquor, but he suspected that one glass of this would be more than enough - there was already a comfortable buzz as he sunk into the sofa cushions, surrounded by the scents of Mario and Nathalie on either side of him. He was even relaxed enough not to mind as Mario slung an arm around the back of the couch, fingers trailing along Jagr’s shoulder.

“Speaking of Sid,” Nathalie said after a while, “what happened with you two in the kitchen? If I didn’t come in when I did, I could have sworn that you two were going to drop fang and fight.”

“May have done,” Jagr admitted. “Was very brave to interfere like that, between two alphas. Maybe have gotten injured, or worse." 

Nathalie huffed. “Well, I wasn’t going to let you two ruin my kitchen. Blood is very hard to get out of tiles, you know.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice Sid giving you the ol’ stink-eye all evening, either,” Mario said. “What did you say to annoy him?”

“Sid not like the idea of me being in the house,” Jagr said. 

“That all?” Mario frowned. “Must be something more to it than that.”

“Could just be Sid,” Nathalie offered. “You know how he gets. Having another alpha in his house would set off his ‘big bad wolf’ setting, big time.”

 

As Mario and Nathalie lightly bickered over his head about ‘big bad wolf settings’, and whether Sid still considered the Lemieux house his home, even after he’d moved in with Geno, Jagr took another sip of the vodka, watching the flecks of silver swirl around and catch the light in the glass. It would be so easy to laugh the whole issue off and head upstairs to bed, but as he felt the burn of the colloidal silver in the back of his throat - and Mario’s arm still draped around his neck - he decided to risk it. After all, if things didn’t go well, he could still retreat upstairs.

“Maybe there is something more,” he said. Both Mario and Nathalie immediately stopped talking, and turned to look at him.

“Go on,” Nathalie said, encouragingly.

“Something Geno tell me.” Taking another gulp of vodka - this one for ‘liquid courage’ - he met Mario’s eyes. “Sid think that you like me,” he said. “As more than friend. Think maybe I ruin your marriage.” He paused, watching Mario’s eyes. “Funny, huh?”

 

Mario’s expression didn’t change - except for the faintest widening of his eyes - but Jagr noticed him and Nathalie have one of those wordless conversations that married couples seemed to do so well, punctuated by Mario muttering in what sounded like French. So not so good, then.

Placing his glass back down on the table, Jagr started to lever himself off the sofa, but was stopped by a firm grip on his arm. Looking over, he saw Mario, with that same odd expression on his face that he had earlier that morning.

“Something you want to say?” he asked.

Mario’s eyes flashed gold for a moment, before he gave Jagr’s arm a swift tug, pulling him back down onto the sofa. “I think I’m done talking,” he said, leaning down into Jagr’s space and-

  
The kiss took him completely by surprise; hot and insistent. Mario loosened his grip on Jagr’s hand to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue brushed against Jagr’s teeth, demanding entrance. Jagr let out a sigh, his inner wolf singing Mario’s name, and was about to open his mouth when he remembered where he was and what he was doing. Kissing Mario. In his house. With Nathalie right there on the sofa with them! And while Jagr had been called many things in the course of his long NHL career, ‘adulterer’ was never going to be one of them. He brought his hands up to push Mario away - ignoring the sharp whine from Mario as he did so - only to have a hand gently curl around his shoulder to pull them apart.

Nathalie’s scent filled his nose as she leaned in - but she didn’t look displeased. On the contrary, there was a broad smile on her face. “Sid’s right,” she said, “but he’s only half right.” Jagr watched her, a little dazed from Mario’s kiss, as she placed a hand lightly on his hip. “In fact, he missed out the best part.”

Nathalie’s kiss was lighter than Mario’s; less insistent and sweeter, but no less claiming. Jagr’s wolf was singing Nathalie’s name now, leaving him thoroughly confused until he felt Mario’s hot breath on his neck and his fingers trail along Jagr’s thigh. Then Mario’s name was added to the inner cadence and… _Oh_.

 

Nathalie pulled away, still smiling, placing her hands over Mario’s. “Do you get it now, you silly goose?”

Jagr looked down at where their hands were intertwined and splayed across his thigh, before he looked up again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he said, placing his own hand on top of Nathalie’s. “Yes.”

“Good.” Nathalie leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I was thinking we needed to hit you over the head with a big sign for you to get it.”

“You want this?” Jagr asked. “For a while?”

“Nathalie had the idea ever since the first dinner,” Mario said, shifting his weight so that he was leaning on Jagr, curling around him as much as he could. “Apparently I should never let her talk to Rex ever again.”

“Is that why you invite me to stay? For…” Jagr waved his free hand vaguely around.

“No,” Nathalie said. “Rex told me how close you two were in the past, and Mario used to talk about you, too. So I thought maybe it would be great to get you two boys talking again. And then you showed up, and fit so well, that…”

“She said to me ‘Mario, can we keep him’?” Mario added. “And that she’s a very generous beta and wouldn’t mind sharing herself with two handsome alphas.”

”Well, it’s the truth,” Nathalie said, flushing slightly. “Only you were being obtuse and my brave, brave husband over there got cold feet.” She winked. “Maybe I should send Sid a thank-you card.”

“Would die on spot,” Jagr said. “Especially since Geno told me he thinks of you as his second parents.”

“I mean it though - we should,” Nathalie said. “Mario insisted that alphas were not meant to be in relationships, and that you two were ‘just good friends’, until I reminded him about Sid and Geno. If those two can have a functional relationship, so can we.” She paused, looking over at Jagr, with just a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. “If you want.”

Jagr’s response was almost instant. “Yes,” he said. “I want.” He put an arm around both Mario and Nathalie, pulling them close so that he could hear both their heartbeats. “Feels right.”

 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, before Mario spoke. “Upstairs?”

“Upstairs,” Nathalie agreed. “And no takebacks, mister,” she told Jagr. “I don’t want you running away to the guest bedroom. We mean what we said. All of it.”

“Would not run,” Jagr said, looking at both of them. “Is more than I hoped for when I come here.”

“Same.” Mario dropped a kiss on Jagr’s neck - the left side - and Jagr shivered, pressing close against him. “Let’s go.”

  

* * *

 

 

A little unsteadily, the three of them rose off the couch and headed up the stairs, Jagr still sandwiched firmly between Mario and Nathalie. As they reached the bedroom, he hesitated for a moment as Mario fumbled with the doorknob, enough that Nathalie squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “We weren’t planning on doing anything, uh, major tonight. We just…” she looked up at Jagr. “We just wanted to have you with us. Okay?”

Jagr smiled, squeezing her hand. “More than okay.” He allowed himself to be led into the bedroom, where Mario had already turned down the sheets and was slipping out of his shirt and pants.

Nathalie huffed. “You’re quick tonight.”

Mario smiled, the white of his teeth glinting in the low light of the room. “You can do that with Jaro.” Jagr looked up at the shortening of his real name - he’d gotten used to ‘Jags’, but that was more of a hockey nickname. “If that’s alright?”

Jagr flashed Mario a smile of his own, before stepping closer to Nathalie, letting his fingers skim over the sleeve of her dress, tugging it down, even as she reached out to unbutton his shirt. With slow, almost sensual movements, they undressed each other, Mario watching from the bed, until they both stood in their underwear, grinning almost ridiculously at one another. Nathalie leaned in, offering the left side of her neck, and as Jagr reached out to press his hand against her pulse, she sighed, leaning in to his touch and pressing soft kisses against Jagr’s bare shoulder.

 

“Are you going to stand like that all night?”

Despite the intimacy of the moment, Jagr almost laughed - Mario sounded quite put out.

Nathalie huffed against Jagr’s shoulder. “Pushy,” she said. 

Mario folded his arms, looking almost smug. “And you love it.”

Nathalie laughed. “Damn straight.” She drew away, tugging Jagr’s hand and pulling him towards the bed. “C’mon.”

Shuffling towards Mario on the bed, Jagr turned so that the left side of his neck was exposed. As Nathalie curled around his other side, running her fingers down his arm, Mario placed his palm on Jagr’s neck, before replacing it with his mouth. Jagr shivered involuntarily as Mario’s teeth grazed lightly over Jagr’s pulse point.

“You mark?”

Mario pressed a kiss to the pulse, before pulling away. “Not yet,” he said, keeping his hand lightly placed on Jagr’s neck.

“But we will,” Nathalie added, slipping her free hand around so that it touched Mario’s; fingers intertwined on Jagr’s pulse point. “You can count on that.”

 

“Want to know how we thought this might work?” Mario murmured, kissing Jagr’s neck again. “Austin and the girls. He hasn’t stopped talking about you since the day you two met.”

“Austin is good kid,” Jagr said, pressing in closer to Mario.

“But that was the thing, see,” Nathalie said. “It’s not just us you have to fit in with. It’s the whole family.”

“And you do.” Mario tugged Jagr towards him for a kiss, and this time, when his tongue demanded entrance, Jagr let him in with a deep sigh, pressing in closer as the smell – and taste – that was uniquely Mario filled his senses. When they broke apart, Nathalie draped herself over Jagr, stealing kisses at the corner of his mouth until he gave her his full attention.

“I know we said no marking,” Nathalie said, as she broke the kiss, “but I see no reason why we can’t share.”

Jagr’s eyes flicked across to a faint mark on Nathalie’s neck – the scar from their mating mark. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Nathalie maneuvered herself so that she was positioned between Mario and Jagr, bearing the heart side of her neck to her husband. “Positive,” she said. “If you both want…”

Mario’s response was his eyes flashing yellow. Nathalie’s glowed in response, as Mario dropped fang and sunk his teeth into her neck almost immediately. As Mario pulled back, mouth stained pink, Nathalie turned, offering her neck to Jagr, who sank his fangs into the same spot. 

 

The bloodlure hit him with the force of a slapshot, the metallic taste of Nathalie’s blood and Mario’s scent hanging in the air between them. Nathalie’s breath started coming in shallow gasps, so Jagr pulled away, before the bloodlure became too much for her. She smiled broadly as Jagr licked at the wound, before Mario leaned over, the taste of Nathalie’s blood and their combined scents mingling even further as they kissed.

When they finally pulled away, Nathalie wound her arms around them both, tugging them closer. Jagr placed his head lightly on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, as Mario reached across to tangle his fingers with Jagr’s. There was a firm sense of contentment – and satisfaction – that hummed in the air between them, as Jagr found himself being lulled to sleep. Aside from his nights spent with the pack, he had never felt so safe and secure – or wanted.

 

* * *

 

As the sunlight peeked around the closed curtains, Jagr was the first to wake, finding himself sandwiched between Mario and Nathalie. As he shifted to get comfortable, Nathalie stirred, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “What time is it?” she murmured.

“Too early,” Jagr replied, placing a hand on her thigh as he curled around Mario – who, being a heavy sleeper, hadn’t moved. “Sleep.”

Of course, just as Jagr was drifting back to sleep again, the doorbell rang. Nathalie sighed, as Jagr gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Let Mario sleep,” he said. “I get. Will call if serious.”

He grabbed a bathrobe – which smelt strongly of Mario - off the back of the door as he left the bedroom and headed downstairs. He had just finished tying the sash around his waist when he opened the front door, only to be faced with none other than Jarome Iginla.

 

“Um.”

 

Iginla let his hand drop to his side, clearly confused, and Jagr chuckled. “Don’t worry,” he said, “you have right house. Come in?”

Iginla followed him in, eyes flicking occasionally to Jagr as they headed for the kitchen. “Coffee?” Jagr asked, opening cabinets in search of a cup.

Iginla nodded. “Sure.”

“Mario should be down soon,” Jagr said, “if you want to talk.” He could sense Mario through what appeared to be a very thin packvelt, so he must be awake.

“Actually,” Iginla said, looking thoughtful, “maybe you can help."

Jagr placed the cup of coffee in front of Iginla. “How?” he asked. “Not part of pack.”

Iginla looked pointedly at Jagr - where no doubt he could smell Mario’s scent on the robe - and raised an eyebrow.

Jagr shrugged. “Is long story,” he said. “But how can I help? If you want to talk about Pittsburgh pack…”

“It’s not about Pittsburgh,” Iginla said. “It’s Boston.”

Jagr leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Boston.”

“Yeah. I, ah, signed a one year contract with the Bruins.”

Jagr almost laughed out loud – after the mess surrounding Iginla at the trade deadline, which in a roundabout way led to Jagr being traded for the second time in his entire hockey career, it was almost ironic that Iginla was now headed to Boston.

“Good team,” he said. “Also good pack. They say where they want you to play?”

“Right wing, definitely. Not sure who with, but they did mention Krejci, since Horton signed with Columbus.”

“Could work,” he said. “Krejci is very good player, and Looch…” Jagr smiled. “Think you will really like playing with him.”

“That’s what Bergy said, when he called me,” Iginla said. “He seems like a very fair Dire.”

Jagr nodded. “Work with him, not against him,” he said. “Is hard for alphas to let another be in charge, but will help pack. Otherwise whole pack gets confused, followed by team.” He winked. “And then Zdeno get mad. You do not want that to happen.” Jagr looked up, as Mario came down the stairs, followed by Austin. “Sorry,” he said. “Did not mean to disturb you.”

“It’s okay,” Mario said, crossing over to where Jagr was and picking up his mug. “Didn’t feel right after you left us.”

 

There was a gagging sound from Austin. “Filed under ‘things you don’t want to know – or smell - about your parents and their friends.’” He shot Jagr a look. “You owe me dozens and dozen of donuts, Jags. I will never, ever, look at you and my parents the same way again.”

Jagr chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Austin’s hair, as Austin ducked away. “I have leftover dumplings in fridge,” he said. “All yours.”

Austin brightened. “Temporarily forgiven,” he said, making a beeline for the fridge. 

 

While Austin pottered around in the kitchen, Jagr turned his attention to Mario, who was in a conversation with Iginla. “I said before that I wish we could have kept you around, and I meant it,” Mario said, reaching out to squeeze Iginla’s shoulder. “But from what I know, the Bruins will suit you right down to the ground. Good luck.”

As Iginla turned and headed towards the front door, Jagr followed him. “Moving whole family to Boston?” he asked.

Iginla nodded. “I couldn’t leave them behind for an entire year,” he said. “We’re getting into Boston a little earlier, so the kids can get settled into their new school and I can meet the team – and the pack – before training camp starts.”

“Good idea,” Jagr said. “Boston is good city to play in – Cam told me that the city and pack gets deep in the bones.” He paused. “Is very true.”

“I hope so,” Iginla said. “After leaving Calgary, I really want to find a place that we can call ‘home’ during the season. Put down roots, you know?”

Jagr placed a hand on Iginla’s shoulder. “I know feeling,” he said.

“Is that why you’re…” Iginla waved a vague hand in the direction of the Lemieux house.

Jagr chuckled. “ _Very_ long story. Maybe I tell you next time I come to Boston.”

As Iginla nodded and turned away, clasping Jagr's hand in farewell, Jagr called out. “Be good to pack! If I hear bad things happen to Bergeron or Krejci, I come over to Boston and kick your behind.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Iginla said, grinning as he headed down the driveway.

 

A hand draped around his shoulder, and he turned to see Mario. “He’ll do just fine in Boston,” Mario said, kissing Jagr’s neck. “And you? Still want to play?”

“Not ready to hang up skates just yet,” Jagr said. “Call Petr today, see who is interested.” He turned to look at Mario. “Going to stay in Eastern Conference,” he said. “Promise me you will not be upset, whoever I choose?”

Mario smiled. “Maybe just a little friendly teasing.”


	6. EPILOGUE.

### 

“ _New Jersey?!_ ” Cam sounded almost hysterical – whether from shock or laughter, he couldn’t tell. He had met the three of them almost as soon as they arrived at Station Blu Spa – the location for Patrice’s wedding and ‘pre-wedding pack gathering’. “I thought you were joking.”

“Why would I joke about Jersey?” Mario said. “If I wanted to joke around, I’d say he was headed back to the Flyers.” He made a face. “Or Pittsburgh, to really screw with your head.”

Cam laughed. “Well, with all the other offseason moves, an Iggy-Jags swap would actually make more sense.” He turned to Jagr. “The Devils? Really?”

“Lou is very convincing. And after Kovy leave, they offer me icetime and a chance to play in the top six,” Jagr said. “No other team in the East could offer that.” He paused. “And since when are you and Mario friends? Thought you both dislike each other.”

“Since you had terrible choice in teams,” Cam said. He looked over at Mario. “I wondered how you knew that before the media did, but I guess you got word straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Mario slung an arm around Jagr, as Nathalie squeezed his hand. He had yet to accept Mario’s bite – or Mario his – but their intentions were perfectly clear to any wolf with a working sense of smell.

Jagr looked directly at Cam. “You have problem with this?”

Cam chuckled. “Not my call, is it?” he said. “If you’re happy, and they treat you right, then we’ll all support you.” He smiled. “And besides, Seguin brought Tyler Brown and the Horcoffs as his ‘plus one.’” He paused. “Or should that be plus three?”

 

“If I’d known that you and Segs were going to bring extra ‘guests,’” Patrice said, “I would have made it an option on the invitation.” He and Jagr immediately went over to hug each other.

“Feeling better?” Jagr asked.

“A little sore,” Patrice admitted, “but improving every day.” He regarded Jagr. “Plaid suits you.”

Jagr groaned. “What is with French Canadians and plaid? Giroux, you…” He threw a hand in Mario’s direction. “This one has plaid suit in wardrobe. _Voluntarily_.”

 

“Oh, you know these Quebec guys,” Recchi said, bounding over. “A bunch of plaid-loving wierdos, the lot of ‘em.” He thumped Jagr on the back enthusiastically. “Great to see you again, Jags! And you brought friends!” He looked, and his eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Have you…” he reached up to rub the heart side of his own neck.

“None of your business, Rex,” Mario said, half fondly.

Recchi grinned. “You should be sending me a bouquet of flowers for putting you on the right path. Or an invitation to your marking party.”

Patrice gave Recchi a good-natured slap to the back of his head. “There’s no such thing as a marking party, Rex.”

”Well, considering how long it’s taken those two – sorry, three – to see the light, there should be.” He turned to Cam. “Hey, does that mean Mario here is a de facto member of the Boston pack?”

Cam stepped in. “Was there a reason you stopped by, Rex? Or did you just want to bother Jags and Mario?”

“Well, I did want to say ‘hi’ to old friends,” Recchi said, “but also to warn Bergy that as we speak, the Battle of Alberta is being recreated in your very tastefully decorated back garden.”

Patrice pinched his nose. “Let me guess. Horcoff and Iggy?”

“With Looch and our boy Segs as willing participants.” Recchi paused. “Last I saw, water pistols were involved. Also sandwiches. I think. Poor Loui is trying his best to settle ‘em down, but you know how the boys get once they get going.”

Patrice swore under his breath in French. “Not on my wedding day, they’re not,” he said. “Cam, if you don’t mind?”

 

As the two headed off, with Recchi close behind them, Mario chuckled. “I guess this means Iginla is fitting in well with the team,” he said.

Jagr shook his head. “Promise pack is not always like this.”

“Are you sure about that?” Nathalie said, smiling. “How about that night at Tresca’s, with the threatening waiters? Or when you and Mario fought on the ice in Pittsburgh – essentially over Cam, I might add - and then invited a whole busload back to our place for pizza?”

“That was only small portion of pack. Former Bruins. Current team can get into just as much trouble, if not more.”

 

There was a shout from off in the distance, and Jagr looked over at Mario and Nathalie. “Want to find out for yourself?”

Amusement floated through the steadily growing packvelt, before Mario and Nathalie reached out simultaneously to grab his hands.

“For the sanctity of French-Canadian weddings and plaid suits everywhere,” Nathalie said, as they started running. 

  
**FINIS.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title for this comes from a line in Bruce Springsteen's song 'Better Days', which I think describes the pairing (which I fondly like to refer to as the 'Lemieux sandwich') pretty well:
>
>>   
> _Tonight this fool’s halfway to heaven and just a mile outta hell / And I feel like I’m comin’ home_   
> 
> 
> Big sticktap again goes to Calliotrope, who was so kind enough to let me play around in her 'verse sandbox <3
> 
> If you missed the lovely mix by halfeatenmoon in the first chapter, please take a listen [here](http://8tracks.com/halfeatenmoon/right-where-i-left-you).


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